Enter Sinister
by Katharra
Summary: Ch. 9 - Rogue wakes up from the nightmare. Sort of.
1. Sweetness Follows

SWEETNESS FOLLOWS

If you asked Bobby Drake when it really began, in his opinion it had to have been when the door closed behind Scott Summers. The students sneaked peeks at the inevitable departure of their teacher, attempting to look nonchalant and aloof at the disturbing spectacle. But Rogue stood when the others sat and followed Scott until he had reached the door. He took one last glance at the tearful girl and smiled sadly. One last glance at his noble African goddess Ororo, whose words of condolence and pleading had failed her. One last glance at the blue mutant Kurt Wagner, who could not seem to face the mourning man. One last glance at the Professor, who stared mutely and stonily at his student; and for once Scott felt the familiar psychic presence of the telepath leave him entirely. One last glance at the brooding Logan, who lingered on the staircase. The two men faced each other with a mixture of unreadable emotions, flickering quickly and disappearing just as quickly. He gave no final speech, no wave, no note and most disheartening, no word of when he'd return. If at all.

After the door closed with a soft and resounding click, the air around them seemed to come crumbling down. It was the final chapter in their latest ordeal, but it did nothing to settle the discontent in their hearts. Instead it made it worse. Logan ascended the staircase with stomping boots, and Bobby made a mental note to stay far and clear from the feral man for more than a few days. Ororo folded her arms across her chest and walked away quickly but not fast enough for anyone to miss the tears streaming down her face. Kurt disappeared in a whiff of black smoke; which was always an unsettling sight in Bobby's mind. But the Professor Xavier stayed, staring at the door with an impermeable face.

Bobby touched Rogue's gloved arm lightly. "We should go." He whispered the statement although he knew well enough that if the Professor wanted to, he could have just read the boy's mind anyway.

Rogue shook her head but refused to turn around. "Why did he leave?" She gasped through her tears.

Bobby touched her arm again, this time more forcefully. "Rogue. We should go."

She turned to him slowly and Bobby felt his chest pang in sympathy for the girl. Which struck him as odd, since Scott was the one he should be feeling bad for. She finally nodded at him and let Bobby lead her by the hand into the rec room, ignoring the questioning stares from the students gathered closely to the opening.

Charles Xavier felt as though he was sinking. Perhaps wallowing was a better term for it. He could say nothing to Scott, for he knew that Scott could not hear it right now. Beyond the helplessness to aid his prized student was the overwhelming yet irrational guilt. But not for Scott or Jean or even Jason Stryker. It was for his other students. The ones that had yet to don the garb of an X-Men but had faced one of the most dangerous foes of their lifetime. The guilt he felt was for failing in his own promise to prevent that from ever happening. In the back of his mind he knew that he could not shelter them; it was probably more detrimental to their being to shield them from the hate the outside world would eventually inflict upon them. But what had happened was not protestors or school bullies. It was armed men being led by a psychopath. 

But what frightened Charles the most was the knowledge that Stryker would not be the last. He was only the beginning. 


	2. The Other

****

THE OTHER

For Wolverine, the story began here. For the feral human, it was not when Summers left the mansion; that was merely the conclusion to a story that would have inevitably come to a close. He was angry; eternally angry at the fates that took Jean away and at the man that let her go. But he was just as angry at himself as he was at Scott Summers. And he felt something else too, an emotion that did not come easy to him, but it was one that he would suppress no matter what the cost.

But when the anger subsided and the mansion resumed to what could be called normalcy, Logan's life took a drastic turn, one that he bristled at. 

How on earth did he get stuck being a babysitter and chauffeur?

So this is what Summers had to deal with. For once in his life he pitied the man. He felt obligated to remain at the mansion, to look after this new found family of freaks like himself. He felt protective over them; to give them a fighting chance when he himself had never had one. But beyond all his noble intentions, Logan completely forgot what teenagers – even mutant ones – were actually like.

Right now he was slapping Jubilee's hand away from the radio dials. The girl had a penchant for songs that were mimics of each other. 

"Ooooooo baaaayyyybeeee…..why you so mean to me baaaayyyybeeee?…..don't you know I neeeeed youuuuu baaaayyybeee?….ooooooo"

To say the least, they weren't very original. Logan briefly considered a career change (obviously one did not need to be lyrically talented to write pop songs) rather than continue slapping the small girl's hand away. He growled at her from underneath his cigar.

"Would you leave it alone, damnit? The stupid girl got her point across the first three-thousand times."

Jubilee responded by sticking her tongue out at him.

The back seat was no better. Kitty Pryde and Rogue were pestering Bobby Drake; not that he minded two young girls giving him their undivided attention. But they were cooing in a teasing manner as they mussed his carefully gelled blonde hair and he tried futilely to protect his coif while he laughed good-naturedly. 

Logan glared at them in the rear-view mirror. "Would you mind knocking it off?" He snarled. "I'm trying to drive here."

Bobby whispered something to the girls ("my grandma drives faster") that he assumed Logan wouldn't be able to hear. Logan did hear and proceeded to threaten Bobby with walking all the way back to the mansion and Bobby immediately straightened up with a serious look on his face. Threats were not to be taken lightly when Logan uttered them. 

They came to one of the last remaining four-way stops before the mansion and although there was no approaching traffic from any direction, Logan halted the car and let it idle. His eyebrows furrowed as he chewed apprehensively on his cigar. His knuckles gripped the steering wheel until his adamantium claws could be seen just below the surface of his knuckles.

"Hey Wolve…the mansion's that-a-way." Jubilee pointed directly in front of her while studying Logan's reaction cautiously.

"I know where the damn mansion is, kid." Logan sent her a warning glance but seemed cemented at the stop sign.

"What's wrong?" Bobby ventured.

Logan looked to the south and north before answering. "Something's not right." A few minutes of awkward silence ensued before the kids were slammed back in their seats as Logan peeled the tires while veering for the south. Everyone shared nervous glances but no one dared to question the man's motives. Instead, they watched the scenery anxiously as it swooshed by the car with mounting velocity. 

And then they saw it, along with Wolverine. 

A rented blue Sunbird, parked halfway in the ditch and halfway on the road. Logan slammed on the brakes, this time throwing the teenagers forward until they felt their seatbelts tighten painfully. He parked in front of the car and stepped out carefully, barking an order at the teenagers to remain inside which they innocently ignored.

The car's front end was dented in badly, with the hood crumpled up to meet the windshield. The windshield itself had cracks that veined out to all corners but amazingly had not shattered. The teenagers had stayed close to their car, staring the smashed Sunbird in awe.

"What happened?" Rogue asked. 

"Deer." Came the plaintive answer. Logan pointed to a female, lying on her side with black vacant eyes, and a neck arched too far backwards. He had smelt the dead deer from the stop sign, but that's not what all he had detected. He walked up to the open driver's side door, studying the inside of the car with blatant suspicion. Blood trickled from the bulge in the windshield where someone's head had struck. He dabbed a finger in the blood and smelt it. 

"They must've been going pretty fast." Bobby had walked up behind him and spoke in his quiet and understated way. 

Logan stood up and eyed him severely. "Didn't I tell you guys to stay in the car? It's not safe."

Jubilee rolled her eyes. "Logan, I don't think the deer's gonna get us."

"It ain't the deer that did this." He walked around the car until he came to the trunk. Bobby and Rogue followed closely behind him. He knelt down on one knee and traced the outline of a faint dent in the bumber. 

"Someone reared him into the deer?" Rogue asked.

Logan's eyebrows furrowed until his eyes were squinted. He began to shake his head as he stood. The road caught his attention once more. There he found the tell-tale black skidmarks that he suspected he would find. 

"He tried to stop." Bobby commented.

But Logan shook his head. "Not him. The deer stopped him. Someone else behind him stopped."

"So where is 'he'? An' where is this 'someone else'?" Rogue was shrugging her shoulders with arms crossed in front of her chest.

Logan stood up again and mulled over his collected facts.

"Over here!" 

The sound of Kitty Pryde's voice broke his concentration and he frowned at the young teenager who stood by a thick grove of trees. "Don't you kids listen?! I said stay in the car!"

Kitty purposely missed his comment entirely and fingered the bark of the tree in front of her. "You gotta see this!"

Logan, Bobby, Rogue and Jubilee all loped down to where the diminutive girl stood. Logan looked over her shoulder to see scorched wood running down the base of the tree. "There's more!" Kitty announced excitedly.

She led them to a blackened clearing in the woody patch, where a crater had been carved out by an obviously substantial explosion. The area smelt of smoke and trees burnt to a charcoal. There were faint traces of blood dotting the ground.

"Why kind of weapon would do that?" Rogue asked quietly.

"A grenade." Logan answered. He was crouched down in the affected area, pushing ashes aside and digging into the black earth at random areas. 

"Man," Bobby breathed. "They really wanted this guy dead."

Logan stood and studied the shattered timber of a tree trunk. "No, they didn't attack him. He threw it at them."

"I wonder what he did." Jubilee said. 

An idea was forming in Logan's mind as he wandered further into the woods. The trees that had been blown away weren't blown in an upward movement like a grenade would do. They were angled, almost like a wind had helped push them over. The crater wasn't formed correctly either. Whoever had thrown the grenade either had a major league pitch, or…

"It wasn't what he did. It was who he was." Logan announced.

The kids looked at him questioningly from where they stood at a distance. 

Logan turned and faced them. "He was a mutant."


	3. Another Big Round Room

ANOTHER BIG ROUND ROOM

The Danger Room was a large, round and sterile gymnasium. It reminded Rogue of the racquetball gym in her old school – the one that nobody used unless it was for storage. When she was a young girl the teacher had let the class run around in the room; when they discovered the high ceiling made their shouts echo dramatically they screamed incessantly until the teacher announced that gym class had been abruptly cancelled. 

The first time Rogue walked into the forbidden Danger Room, she held back the urge to shriek. Wisely so, for although the Danger Room had an impressively high ceiling it was constructed to muffle any sounds made inside of its confines. 

It was a plain and dimly lit grey room. It was a fairly boring thing to be quite honest, yet foreboding. Rogue crossed her arms across her chest although she was not cold. But the room had a chilly feel to it and even though a program had yet to be initiated, Rogue could feel the hostility emanating from the bare walls. 

She glanced quickly at her two teammates that were pitted with her – Iceman and Nightcrawler. Bobby was smiling but she could see the underlying nervousness in him. Her boyfriend could never hide it that easily, despite his best efforts. Nightcrawler had that eternally good-natured smile on his face. She couldn't help but compare the blue elfin mutant to a dog at times; one that is completely and blissfully unaware that it could be blown off the face of the earth in mere seconds. At the same time, if there was one among them that was in the least amount of danger it would have to be Nightcrawler. The mutant had only to give teleportation the slightest thought and poof…he was gone. It was so cool.

Rogue, on the other hand, only had one real power that she knew of. And if you asked her, it royally sucked. She could steal mutant powers. She couldn't fly, fight or even run fast. She just sat there and leached the life out of other mutants. Bobby kept trying to convince her that she was too hard on herself, that time and training would reveal her full capacity. But that's easy to say when you can form walls out of ice.

It also meant that she couldn't touch those that she cared most about. Bobby had already paid for his attempt at a kiss. She never felt more like a freak than when his eyes had bugged out in panic and his veins popped to his skin's surface as his energy drained from him and into her. He swore that his feelings never changed since then; that he would stick by her until the Professor could find a way around it. But ever since Jean…well, those plans at finding a way to bypass her power had officially been put on the backburner. 

"Hey," Bobby whispered. "You awake?"

"Mmm-hmm." Rogue nodded her head vigorously.

"Good." Bobby tugged at his uniform's collar. He _hated_ the leather outfit. How on earth did the other team members deal with this stupid thing? And not only that, it made a ridiculous swishing noise every time he walked – how the hell was he supposed to sneak up on anybody when he sounded like a garbage bag blowing in the wind every step he took?

"Because you'll have frozen your enemy long before they'll get a chance to attack you, Iceman." Charles Xavier's refined voice cut through the overwhelming silence on a p.a. system.

Rogue couldn't help but giggle at the redness that traveled swiftly up Bobby's neck and into his cheeks, and then even onto his ears.

Bobby searched the darkened windows that were located high up on the Danger Room's west wall, but it was no use. He couldn't see through the one-way window to Professor Xavier's face, but he had no doubt that the older man was smirking at him. 

"Lets get to work, shall we?"

Nightcrawler crouched like a cat on the ground – so much like a cat that even his tail wiggled in anticipation. Bobby took on some sort of karate-like fighting stance. Rogue maintained her stock-still form. 

The room seemed to ripple, and the once visible door and windows looking into the room disappeared altogether. To Rogue, it was rather unsettling. She told herself that they were still there, but she couldn't help but feel that she was trapped in a dream, the one where you know you're dreaming but still can't wake up from.

A metallic clanking alerted her attention. She squinted into the unending blackness in front of her to locate its source but it was pointless; it was coming from every direction around her. The nervous butterflies in her stomach were affecting the rest of her body; her hands trembled slightly and perspiration formed on her brow.

"Here they come!" Bobby yelled.

The clanking drew in volume as Rogue saw crude humanoid drones approaching from every angle. The droids looked like something out of a really old and badly done sci-fi movie, but thankfully Rogue could see that they were not armed. 

Bobby was the first to strike; with both hands outstretched in front of him and a look of sheer concentration, huge icy blocks flew at the drones' heads, knocking them to the ground. Nightcrawler disappeared and reappeared atop a machine head, ripping it off before bounding to the next one and performing the same decapitation. Rogue readied herself for her first kick to the closest droid.

Bobby was on fire. It felt good to release his powers and he did so in quick succession. He attempted some new maneuvers and smiled inwardly when they worked out exactly as he'd pictured them. Nightcrawler was bouncing from head to head like a Gummi Bear on speed. After taking out every drone on his side he landed beside Bobby with a giddy grin on his face. 

"Not too bad, nein?"

Bobby was still concentrating on pelting the rest that were in front of him. "Nope." He shook his head. A sailing head that flew too close to his nose grabbed Bobby's attention. Both he and Nightcrawler stopped and stared in amazement as Rogue kicked a roundhouse and took out another drone's head. Bobby's jaw fell. Rogue grunted as she grabbed a robotic arm and slung the body over her head, already moving to work on the next one and too busy to notice that Bobby and Nightcrawler had been forced to duck to avoid the hurtling robot.

"She is ass kissing." Nightcrawler commented.

"Ass kicking, you mean." Bobby retorted.

"That too." 

They were so involved at watching Rogue go Buffy on the droids that they failed to remember the drones that were still approaching them. Kurt and Bobby both yelped in surprise when metal arms hugged them from behind and lifted them off their feet. Kurt managed the attack quite easily; he simply teleported himself to be on the other side of the drone. The drone searched its empty arms with confusion while Nightcrawler kicked it with both legs, sending the robot flying across the room and smashing into the opposite wall.

Bobby was having a drastically more difficult time. His arms were pinned to his sides and the robot possessed much more strength than he had first thought. He grimaced as the arms around his chest tightened, squeezing the air from his lungs. He wiggled his hands until his fingertips were grazing the surface of the droid. Focusing his energy, he frosted the drone with layer after layer, until the joints were frozen. Bobby used as much physical strength as he could to topple the drone backwards and onto the floor where the arms snapped off like breaking icicles. 

The newest members of the X-Men stood, surveying the junkyard mess of littered robotic body parts. Rogue wore an accomplished smile, which made Bobby grin. Nightcrawler wore the same smile he always did. 

"Very good X-Men." 

The three looked up to where Professor Xavier sat in his hidden viewing suite. The Danger Room rippled again as all body parts disappeared. But the door and the window were still missing.

"The next round will all be armed." Charles did not have to be telepathic to hear the collective swears.

"Xavier, we need to talk."

Charles pivoted his wheelchair to face Wolverine. "Of course Logan. Ororo, if you would be so kind."

Ororo nodded graciously while taking the Professor's place at the controls. Xavier motioned for Logan to speak outside the door. The door swished closed behind them and the two began a slow stroll down the corridor. "I never had the chance to thank you for taking the children out yesterday. Sometimes a boarding school can make them feel a little cooped up at times."

"Yeah, it's about yesterday."

Charles stopped his wheelchair. "Besides the incident with Bobby?"

The memory of Bobby accidentally freezing a magazine in a bookstore, and then letting it shatter to the ground popped up in Logan's mind. "How'd you know about that?" Wolverine didn't give him the chance to use his 'I am psychic you know' routine, as he quickly shook his head. "No, forget it. It's about the drive home."

Charles nodded his head gravely. "Lets take a trip down to Cerebro." 

Logan had never been crazy about Cerebro. It was sort of like walking into oblivion. That, and there always seemed to be something wrong with it. Aside from nearly killing Xavier himself, Cerebro (or a form of it) had nearly taken out all the mutants of the world and then adversely, all the humans of the world. He was not comfortable with any power that he couldn't skewer with his own claws.

"It won't bite, Logan."

"Would you quit doing that?" Wolverine shot a quick glare at Charles who looked at him innocently.

Charles placed the helmet on his head and touched a button that dimmed the lights in the room. "I had been tracking a specific mutant through Cerebro for some time now. It would appear as though that same mutant is the one that was attacked."

"What was he doing up here?"

"I contacted him." 

Wolverine looked at Charles in surprise. "He was coming here?"

Charles hummed solemnly. "Before he was apprehended. The manner in which he was taken disturbs me the most."

"Government?" Wolverine asked.

"No." The room seemed to close in on Logan, but then exploded in shades of human and mutant figures. "They were mutants also."

Wolverine growled under his breath. "Magneto's crew." He stated.

"Again, no." Several figures began to appear more vividly than the rest. "I almost wish it were. At least we would have some idea of who we were up against. I have never encountered mutants like these before. They seem to be quite formidable."

"Can you see where they've taken him?"

Charles shook his head. "Most troubling. He seems to have disappeared altogether. But the others have decided to remain close." 

Logan squinted at a pinpoint that appeared in the space before him. "Rochester." He looked up at the shadowy figures. One remained in the background making it difficult to tell if it was a mutant or figment of the program. "What's that?"

"That, Logan, is what disturbs me the most. That is a mutant, but one which has the ability to mask himself from me. And although I suspect he has the ability to conceal himself just as Magneto is able to, he chooses not to. It's almost as though he's taunting me."

Logan snorted. "Stupid and cocky."

Charles took the helmet off his head and replaced it on the control board. "I don't know about stupid. He has eluded me thus far." He tapped his index finger on his chin in deep thought. "I don't know what he's planning, but instincts tell me that we must move quickly to prevent it."

Logan jammed his thumbs in his pockets. "I'll take a trip to Rochester." He turned to walk out but Charles stopped him by closing the door.

"Surveillance only, Logan. Do not engage them until we know who they are and what their motives are. Otherwise we could be walking into a perfectly executed trap."

Wolverine grunted. "We?"

A small smile tugged at the corners of Xavier's mouth. "Take the new members with you."

Logan held up his hand to protest. "Hey, I'm not a baby-"

"Good-bye, Logan." And the door swished shut in front of Wolverine. 


	4. Fake ID

__ ****

FAKE IDENTIFICATION

"Logan, I don't think we can get in here." Rogue stated reasonably. 

With a diagonal swipe of one extended claw, Wolverine cleanly sliced the lock off the back door in a faded brick building. Teeth-jarring bass could be dimly heard from the outside of the trendy nightclub in Rochester, New York. It was called "The Bar", which made finding it easy enough. Although sneaking in, particularly when you had two teenage tag-alongs would be slightly more difficult. 

"You aren't here to drink, kid. You're here to work."

Nightcrawler had been made to sit calmly and enviously in the front seat of the car. He'd also been instructed that should Wolverine and company need a clean getaway, he would not be the one driving. Nightcrawler had insisted that he could adapt well enough to driving on the 'wrong' side of the road, but Wolverine glowered at him and that was the end of the discussion.

"The guy I was talking to said they had an awesome deejay here."

Wolverine was growling under his breath. "Drake, you take one look at that dancefloor and your head will be so far up your ass you'll be able to see what you had for breakfast."

"Yes sir." Bobby muttered quietly.

"And don't call me 'sir'". Wolverine snapped.

"Yes…okay."

Wolverine opened the rusty steel door slowly and peered around it before motioning for the two teenagers to go inside. He closed the door to the outside, leaving the three in total darkness in a dusty and overused storage room. Rogue stifled a cough while Bobby fumbled around in the darkness, nearly knocking over an empty canister. 

"Here's the deal. No fooling around and be on your guard. We're here to find mutants and what their business is. No funny stuff and no showing off. Got it?"

The two nodded, even though they weren't sure if he could actually see their heads bobbing up and down.

"Good." Apparently he could. "Lets go."

Despite the fact that they were on a fact-seeking mission to find mutants, Rogue couldn't help but feel a tad bit excited. This was her first bar. And she didn't even need fake id to get in either. She stood at the edges of the dancefloor watching as bodies swayed and bounced in rhythm to the thumping beat that seemed to come from every corner of the bar. She gawked at the breezy tops the women wore, their unbelievably short skirts and high strappy heels. She wondered absently if there was a dress code here; one that stipulated all women had to dress the same. She saw a couple in the corner, oblivious to all eyes watching, grinding and groping each other. The guy had one hand on her hip, the other was travelling up her bare arm to caress her cheek as he drew her face in to envelop her mouth in a lustful kiss.

Bobby was shouting something at her. She hesitantly took her eyes off the couple and faced her boyfriend who was yelling.

"What?"

"I said: Look!" He pointed to the far corner of the dancefloor where an odd looking couple danced distractedly with each other. The boy was a short and skinny Korean, and an unbelievably good dancer to boot. The woman seemed to have less ability, but what was striking about her was her white hair streaked with neon green. She wore long black pants and high-heeled boots and a white tank-top with a swirly design on it that made Rogue dizzy just looking at it.

Rogue shrugged. "What about 'em?" She hollered in Bobby's ear.

"Well they look kind of odd, don't you think?"

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Bobby, just 'cause she's wearing pants-"

"Did you not see her hair?"

Rogue threw her hands in the air. "So she did a very complicated dye job, that doesn't make her a mutant!"

Bobby had stopped arguing with her but was looking at the couple with a blank stare. 

"What?" Rogue prompted.

Bobby replied very lowly, barely moving his lips. "They're looking right at us."

Rogue only had an instant to see that the boy and woman were indeed glaring at them, before a strong hand clamped on her shoulder painfully. Bobby and Rogue both looked up to see a very large and fierce bouncer behind them. "Do you two have a stamp?"

"A stamp?" Bobby repeated.

He was sizing both of them up, his already stern frown deepening. "You two don't look old enough to be in here."

Both their mouths dropped as they stammered for a good lie.

At least Xavier said nothing about drinking while on the job. Logan turned away from the bar while taking a long gulp on his bottle of beer. He leaned nonchalantly while scanning the crowd. A young man walked by him wearing black leather pants and a see-through black mesh top. Logan raised a questioning eyebrow at the ensemble. The man caught his eyebrow and gave Logan's scruffy jeans and tight white shirt a once-over. After receiving his drink, the man stopped in front of Logan.

"Yeah right, old man."

Logan was taken aback. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He shook his head and went back to downing his beer. He didn't understand kids these days. 

His nostril twitched with a new scent. He turned his head in the direction of it, scanning the crowd to find it. It was familiar. He placed his empty bottle on the bar and began walking towards the faint smell, mentally placing the smell with a similar one he smelt at the crash-site a few days before. 

Then he spotted it. A table with two oversized men at it. The smaller of the two had long black hair, a sculpted goatee and one gold earring. He sort of looked like a pirate. The other was huge, at least two feet taller than Logan. His enormous legs didn't even fit under the table; they were outstretched beside the table. For an intimidating sight, he had a ridiculous Beatles-like haircut. 

But they were both facing Logan with smoldering glares. Instant realization sunk in and Logan whirled around to search for the kids.

The bouncer had them both by the neck collars, hauling them unwillingly from their spot where they were trying to remain cemented to. They began to draw onlookers, twenty-something club-hoppers that pointed and laughed at two underage kids being kicked out. Bobby was tempted to ice his feet to the floor, or better yet ice the entire dancefloor so that everyone who was laughing at them would fall on their asses, but knew that that would officially end his career as a spy for the X-Men.

"Let them go." 

Bobby and Rogue stared in shock at the woman with white and green hair who was standing in front of them and glaring up at the bouncer.

"I'm sorry?" The bouncer smirked down at the woman, which only made her scowl more menacingly. 

"I said: Let them go. They belong to us." The boy beside her cracked his knuckles.

The bouncer began to chuckle deeply. "Look lady, I don't know who you think you are, but-"

"I'm Vertigo. And I'm going to be the last sight you see." She held her arm out in front of her and with a startled gasp the bouncer let the two teenagers go. He stumbled backwards, with his hands covering his face, ramming into the bar and knocking over several patrons as he went. He fell to the ground and flopped around like a dead fish as he struggled to regain his footing. He slumped to the ground on all fours as if staggeringly drunk.

Bobby and Rogue stared in disbelief for a moment before popping into action. Bobby threw an ice chunk into Vertigo's stomach, creating a surprised grunt from the woman as she fell backwards. Rogue roundhoused the small Korean and followed with quick punches that the boy could barely block. He scrambled blindly, knocking over a table where a couple sat. The girl shrieked before the couple dived for cover, leaving Rogue to stand confidently over the boy with fists ready.

"Ya ain't as tough as ya look, are ya?"

The Korean got to his knees, wiping blood away that trickled from a swelling cut in his lip. He sneered up at her. "That's what you think."

Logan should have known that the dark man's overcoat was not just a coincidence. The table that was once in front of them was now flying across the bar as the two stood. The man flung off the overcoat revealing one of the weirdest costumes Wolverine had ever seen. It had small pieces of glinting metal covering its entirety.

Wolverine gave a small snort. "What are you, The Walking Magnet?"

A slow and controlled smile formed on the man's face. "Scalphunter."

"Right." His claws extended from his knuckles as he glanced at the other man. "Nice harpoon." He commented.

The huge man with the bad haircut clutched the weapon casually in his right hand. "Thanks."

Wolverine flexed his claws. "Think nothing of it." He lunged as the harpoon soared through the air in a beeline for his body. While it flew, the weapon morphed into pure energy and with a sizzle of electricity, impaled the spot of the floor where Wolverine had once been.

Wolverine took a moment to digest what Scalphunter was doing. The small pieces of metal were detaching on their own accord, assembling themselves onto Scalphunter's arm until it became clear to Wolverine what exactly was being built: a very large gun.

With the large-barreled gun firmly attached to his arm; more of an extension than a foreign weapon, Scalphunter turned and pushed a small button on the side of the gun. Wolverine heard a click and followed by a high-pitched whining that he guessed was the sound of the gun warming up. A second later he was diving off the railing and down a set of stairs as the concussion from the impact sent him flying.

The backdoor burst open and streams of panicked people ran out, screaming as they left. Nightcrawler sat up in the driver's side and looked for any signs of his companions. Realizing that they were probably the cause of the panic in the first place, Nightcrawler wrestled with his feelings of duty and loyalty. Logan said he wasn't to leave the vehicle. But if they were in trouble…

He kicked the passenger door open and bounded through, ignoring the wailing of terrified women as a blue demon jumped over their heads and into the club.

Bobby was going to throw up. The room was spinning uncontrollably until the point it was maddening. He was crouched on all floors, grimacing as he tried to fight wave after wave of nausea. It was that woman, Vertigo. He sent tendrils of ice onto the floor until they latched onto her feet, freezing her to the floor. She took a glance and laughed. 

"You'll have to try better than that, honey."

Bobby took her words to heart. He summoned a square block of ice and sent it hurtling towards her head. She gasped before it hit her temple with a resounding thud, effectively knocking her out.

Bobby took a moment to recover before rising to his feet. He reached for the bar to help steady himself and looked for Rogue. 

Rogue felt weak; she was lightheaded and was swaying on her feet.

"Not so fun, is it?" The scrawny guy was smiling at her. It infuriated her but she felt helpless. Every movement seemed to take all her energy, energy that she just didn't possess right now.

He was stalking towards her, seeming very sure of himself right now. Rogue turned away from him and clutched a tabletop. She held her head with one had and then it came to her.

As she turned back to him, she took off the long black glove on her right arm. "I don't know what ya are boy. But ah think yer a mutant."

The boy laughed. "What gave it away?"

Rogue reached for his arm and caught it in a vise-grip. "This."

The boy's eyes popped noticeably. His mouth opened as though struggling for a scream or just a breath. Although she knew her power was working, she suddenly felt worse. The two fell to the ground together, with Rogue still clutching his arm. He was audibly wheezing for air now, and she was close to tears.

She began to scream.

Bobby heard Rogue's wail. He staggered drunkenly towards her shriek, ignoring the high-pitched metallic squeal that came from his left.

Two powerful legs kicked him to the ground and knocked the wind out of him as something flew mere inches over his head and blew up the glass shelves behind the bar. Bobby carefully looked up into the smiling face of Nightcrawler.

"Thanks." He rasped.

"It was not a thing."

The high-pitched whining sounded again, but before Nightcrawler could haul Iceman to his feet, Scalphunter howled in pain. Wolverine had latched his claws into the man's right shoulder. The shot released did not hit its intended targets, instead it veered right, pounding into the wooden bar and sending splinters hurtling in every direction.

"Wolverine, look out!"

But Bobby's warning was a fraction too late. The giant man rose behind Wolverine like a looming monolith and before the feral human could unlatch himself from Scalphunter, Harpoon threw his namesake weapon at Logan's back.

Wolverine let out a pained groan as his body's muscles went into violent and painful spasms. He fell to the ground twitching and did not rise.

Before Harpoon could gloat or inflict further damage, a whiff of black cloud formed in front of his face, a millisecond before two clawed feet smashed his nose in. Scalphunter whirled around to find his teammate holding a broken nose, but no assailant. Nightcrawler appeared behind him, double kicking him in the back of the head before disappearing again. Scalphunter pivoted and fired blindly, hitting the wall and nothing more. Nightcrawler teleported once again, this time at Scalphunter's feet to sweep the legs out from under the large man. 

Bobby used Nightcrawler's distraction to make his way over to Rogue. She had stopped screaming and Bobby knew that was not a good thing. He found Rogue curled in on herself, lying unconscious beside the small Korean who was also unmoving. Bobby shook her shoulder gently while calling her name to rouse her. 

He looked up to see Nightcrawler literally kicking the crap out of Scalphunter, and Wolverine getting to his feet with a grouchy snarl on his face. 

"Wolverine!"

Wolverine looked up to find his name being called by Bobby.

"We have to get Rogue out of here!"

Wolverine nodded and retracted his claws. But he took a moment to swing a vicious adamantium punch at Harpoon, who was still clutching his face. The giant man fell to the floor and did not get back up.

As cautiously as he could, Bobby lifted Rogue into his arms and moved to rejoin his comrades. A peculiar sounding crack caught his attention. He turned his head to the right and found himself faced with one of the scariest men he'd ever encountered.

He was tall and muscular, with head to toe blue metallic armour that seemed to be molded to his skin. His face was bone-white and his hair was black. In the middle of his forehead was a red diamond shape; whether it was a tattoo or naturally there, Bobby could not guess. But his eyes would haunt Bobby, for they were without pupils and completely red. 

As a child, Bobby had a fear that the bogeyman was hiding in his closet. He could never picture what his fictional bogeyman had looked like, but now as the hair stood up on the back of his neck, he knew this must be it.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me." His voice was deep and threatening, yet somehow refined. It sounded intelligent.

Bobby fought for words, but could only find the effort to take a faltering step away from the man.

The man raised his head slightly, and if he had pupils Bobby would have known that he was looking over his shoulder. He smiled; and it hit Bobby that his lips were blue.

"Why Scrambler. How nice of you to reawaken."

After a split-second of confusion, Bobby realized that the man was talking to the Korean kid that he had so foolishly forgotten.

Something that was not physical hit Bobby. He dropped Rogue and clutched his head with both hands as he screamed. 

Rogue's body did not hit the floor; her limp body levitated inches off the floor and floated into the man's awaiting arms. Before the man could disappear again, he took a moment to study the effects that Scrambler was having on the blonde-haired boy. 

Iceman was writhing on the floor, grinding his teeth as he struggled to regain some sort of control over his body. He could feel the ice forming, but not in front of him. It was forming over him. Panic made adrenaline pump through his veins as the thought of freezing or even suffocating to death under his own ice creation flooded his mind. 

Sinister watched the boy encase himself with ice, aided by the mutant powers of Scrambler. One eyebrow was raised and a slight grin formed on his face. "Interesting."

"Bobby!" Wolverine was running towards the disturbing spectacle, and Sinister took the interruption as his sign to leave. With a thunderous clap, the large mutant disappeared. Several smaller claps could be heard, and with stunned silence the X-Men looked around them to find themselves utterly alone.

Bobby was covered head to toe in ice. It took the shape of his body and facial features, even his hair. Wolverine didn't know if he should touch him or not.

"Is he alive?" Nightcrawler asked.

Wolverine shook his head and shrugged unknowingly. 

The ice crackled, then shattered around Bobby's body. The boy was taking large shuddering breaths and trembling.

"Drake, you okay?" Wolverine asked slowly.

"C-c-cold." He stammered.

Nightcrawler took off his coat and wrapped it around Iceman's shivering chest. The two X-Men helped him to his feet where they surveyed the damage with awe. Sirens could be heard in the distance, growing closer.

"R-Rogue?" Bobby asked.

The trio made their way to the door, heading for the only car remaining behind the building. Tires screeched as several cars came to a halt outside the front of the building, signaling the advancing cops. 

Wolverine stuffed Bobby in the back and took over the steering wheel. "She's gone."


	5. Metal Slabs

****

Metal Slabs

It was the pressure on her cheekbone that woke her up. Her right cheek was numb. Her entire body was chilled. She shivered, drawing her knees to her chest for warmth. Her head felt like dead weight on her shoulders; her neck seemed to ache from supporting it. After her groggy and uninviting return to consciousness came, she resigned herself to the fact that she would eventually have to open her eyes. She did it experimentally, sighing with relief that the lights above her were dimmed. She slowly lifted herself up into a sitting position, wincing at the amount of energy the simple action took. She rubbed the crick in her neck and for the first time took a look around her cell.

It was entirely metal, but gleaming metal; as though every ounce of the floor, walls and bars had been polished. Her 'bed' was nothing more than a cold metal slab. There was a metal sink and toilet in one corner; Rogue threw them a disparaging glance.

"Not de coziest tings, eh?"

Rogue jumped. Cautiously, she leaned over until she could see out the corner of her bars. Unlike the inside of her cell, the outside was a bright white. It looked like a lab, sterile with a sickening scent. It reminded her of a veterinarian's office. There was a constant hum in the hallways, the same annoyingly monotone sound that mosquitoes made. She assumed it was from the scores of fluorescent lights that drowned the corridor in white.

"Who are you?"

"Jus' a prisoner. Like you."

Rogue shook her head, still craning to see her bodiless voice. "No. Ah shouldn't be a prisoner. Ah haven't done anything."

The voice snorted. "You a mutant. Dat be reason enough."

"Ah don't understand." Rogue reached for the bars. "Who are they an' why-" she never had the chance to finish, a stinging zap sent her scrambling backwards while rubbing her tingling palms. She swore as she examined them, feeling odd jitters traveling up her arms.

The voice chuckled. "Don' take you too long to learn dat lesson, non?"

Rogue sat against the cold wall, glaring into the darkness. "It ain't funny."

The voice was still laughing softly. "No. But it not so bad. Consider yo'self lucky."

To be quite honest, Rogue didn't really feel like talking. But at the moment, talking seemed to eat up time and time seemed like it would be all she had for a while. "Ya sure seem to know a lot 'bout this place."

She guessed that the voice was probably taking a moment to shrug judging by the slight pause before he answered. "I had de tour. It got lots o' space but lacks character."

His calmness rubbed off on her. Their current predicament didn't seem so bad by his standards, whatever they might be. But she had the nagging feeling that his humour was merely a cover-up. "Yer accent. Where's that from?"

"Louisiana. De bayou."

Rogue hummed, flexing her fingers as feeling returned to them. "Long way from home."

The voice grunted. "Tell me 'bout it."

His voice was hoarse, almost weathered. He sounded like a man with a past, a dangerous history. But as he was her only companion, Rogue felt obliged to keep the conversation light and friendly. "What's yer name?"

This time there was a drawn silence, as though the voice was picking from a slough of names to feed her. She doubted, rightfully so, that he would give her a straight answer. "Gambit."

She repeated the name in her mind, wondering silently at its meaning and why he used it. She was also more intrigued than ever to find out his real name. "Ma name's Rogue."

"I know."

The room was called the War Room; Charles would have preferred the title he gave it: The Research Room. Yet for reasons unknown to him, the X-Men could not bring themselves to call it anything other than the War Room. He grimaced at the title. They were not the Department of Defence, but for all intent purposes they mimicked its finer points. 

Xavier, Storm and Wolverine leaned over the table that contained a 3-D map. It had always struck Wolverine as something that Magneto would have favoured; the images floated as though controlled by magnetism with little flecks of slate that formed themselves into perfect models of cityscape by simple commands. Right now, they were examining the city of Rochester. 

"If he teleported as you say he did, Logan, than there's really no way we can track his movements."

Wolverine's eyebrows furrowed in frustration and he sought to control the anger that seeped through his words. "Can't you use Cerebro? Isn't that what that thing's for?"

Storm glanced at him quickly. He knew she was observing him, reading his emotions but by her gracious nature refusing to comment on them. 

"I've already searched with Cerebro. This mutant, whoever he is, is much more powerful than I ever expected him to be."

Logan slammed a fist down on the edge of the table; Storm winced. "'Than you expected him to be'? What the hell did we go in there for then? To make sure he wasn't a stuffed animal? You knew he was powerful." Logan stared at Xavier with eyes narrowed into slits, while Xavier met his gaze impassively. "Rogue could be dead now thanks to you."

"Logan." Storm's voice had taken on a warning tone, but Wolverine could care less. He was infuriated by their calm; the fact that one of their own – and their youngest – had been snatched from under their noses did not seem to faze them. 

"She's not dead, Logan." Xavier's voice fell a notch. "I would have felt it if she had."

Wolverine glared at them both. Storm placed a hand on Xavier's shoulder but she gazed at him compassionately. Wolverine snorted at them and stormed out. 

A teenager blocking his path stopped him short outside the door. There were dark rings under Bobby Drake's eyes as though he hadn't slept for a year. The kid was pale and gaunt-looking and he stood nervously with his hands jammed in his jean's pockets. "What did they say?" He asked quietly.

Wolverine eyed him sharply. "I thought you were supposed to be sleeping."

Bobby waved off the question. "Couldn't. Can they find Rogue?"

Wolverine shook his head and brushed by Bobby, leaving the teenager scrambling to catch up. "Well, are they going after her? What are we going to do?"

Wolverine stopped at the elevator and whirled on the kid. He pressed a hard finger into Bobby's chest. "You're going to bed. I'm gonna go look for her."

Bobby's cheeks flushed for a quick moment, before a determined look settled on his face. "I'm not a kid Wolverine. And wherever you go, I'm going too."

Logan opened his mouth to object but Bobby beat him to it. "You're not the only one who cares for her."

Logan's mouth snapped shut. He studied Bobby, finally realizing that if he didn't take the boy with him, then he'd probably go anyway and get himself into more trouble without him. Wolverine grumbled under his breath and roughly grabbed the neck of Bobby's sweater and hauled him inside the elevator. He slammed to button to reach the main floor and then waved his finger in Bobby's face. "You listen to whatever I tell you and keep your mouth shut, got it?"

The usual worried look reappeared on Bobby's face suddenly. He nodded quickly. 

The elevator stopped with a jolt. Wolverine swore and began punching the button impatiently. To his utter bafflement, the elevator began a descent back where they came. As the steel door opened, Wolverine exhaled deeply to find Xavier and Storm facing him with cool looks.

"You're not a lone wolf, Logan. And this," he gestured to Bobby, "is not your trusty sidekick. You perform on a team now, and the team will function as one. Any rescue mission will be orchestrated by myself and will be lead by Storm."

Wolverine stared at Storm who met his eyes with a stony countenance of her own. 

"This is still, first and foremost, a school, Logan. If you want to run the operations of the X-Men, I suggest you become a Professor."

Gambit was quite talkative given the circumstances. He jabbered on about New Orleans and the best venues for live acts in the city, but carefully stayed away from any subject that might be associated with their current state. It was also evident that the further Rogue retreated into a despairing silence, the more Gambit compensated for her lack of conversation. It eventually came to the point where Rogue muttered distracted yes or no's to most of Gambit's questions, if at all.

Gambit paused, racking his brain for a question that she would have to answer. "Okay, I got one. How is it you come to be part o' de X-Men? An' I want de whole story, none o' de yes or no variety."

Rogue shrugged, even though Gambit could not see the reaction. Then she became confused. "How do ya know about the X-Men?"

She heard a soft snort of laughter. "Lots o' mutants know 'bout de X-Men. Just like lots o' mutants know 'bout Magneto's crew an' all dat happened at your school while back."

Rogue's interest was now piqued. She shimmied over to edge of her cell again so she could hear everything that Gambit was saying. "How?"

His voice became low and dangerously edgy again, giving rise to Rogue's suspicions that he was not society's most astute citizen. "Word travels fast in certain circles." 

"So is this Magneto's crew that's doing this to us?"

There was a long silence and Rogue listened attentively to Gambit's slow exhale and ensuing words. "No. Dis ain't Magneto. Magneto's a walk in de park compared to dis."

"What? What's 'this'?" 

Just as Gambit was about to answer, the loud creak and clang of a large metal door opening and closing caught their attention. The sound of high-heeled boots striding forcefully on the ground made Rogue scoot back in the corner of her cell. The boots stopped outside her companion's cell.

"Nice outfit, Invetro."

Gambit's remark was followed by his swearing and pained grunts. 

"It's Vertigo, asshole. You'd better learn to smarten up before I put you out of commission for good."

There was the sound of her boots walking again and then stopping in front of Rogue's cell. Rogue was huddled against the wall beside her metal bed.

"Awww." The mocking tone of superficial sympathy made Rogue look up. She recognized the white and green streaked hair but the woman now wore a black leather skirt and bright red baby tee. She was smirking down at Rogue. "Isn't she cute when she's scared?"

Rogue was about to retort; to defend herself or at least tell the woman off, but instead she turned her head so she wasn't looking at Vertigo. The humming in the hall abruptly stopped. It was then that Rogue realized that the lights didn't make the sound; it was the electrified barrier that encased the metal bars of her cell. Vertigo slapped the side of the wall and the metal bars slid into a crevice in the wall. She stepped inside, keeping a safe distance between herself and Rogue. 

"We can do this my way or your way, but I promise that with my way, at least you'll be alive at the end of the day."

Rogue glowered at her. "An' that's a good thing?"

Vertigo's right eyebrow raised. "Good point."

Vertigo took one more step towards her, but that was all the encouragement Rogue needed. She stood on her own and brushed past Vertigo aggressively. Vertigo trotted to catch up to the girl who was now walking down the white-lit hallway. Vertigo jabbed her in the back, making Rogue stop and eye her sharply. 

"Wrong way, dumbass."

Rogue rolled her eyes at the shorter woman but followed her down the opposite hall. It was lucky though, for this new direction gave her the glimpse she needed of her companion. 

His cell was darker than hers, and like she had, he was sitting dejectedly on his bed with his knees drawn up to his chest. What little she could see of him struck her as odd; she hadn't pictured him quite so young. He could not be more than a few years older than herself judging by his smooth skin and messy brown hair. He had stubble that looked like it was eternally present and the hands that were wrapped around his knees had chewed off fingernails. As he lifted his head to meet her gaze, Rogue gave a surprised gasp. The whites of his eyes were non-existent; there was only a hollow blackness. The iris surrounding his black pupil was a glowing red, and right now they were focused intently on her gaping expression. The left side of his mouth hitched upwards in a slanted and devious smile.

To Rogue's surprise, she found herself smiling back.

Vertigo swore under her breath at the two teenagers and pushed Rogue roughly past Gambit's cell. 


	6. Retrospection

****

Retrospection

"You've got to be kidding me."

The lean woman flipped her fiery red hair casually over her shoulder while smiling at her boyfriend. "About what, Scott? It's a well-established course in all high schools. Why should it be any different here?"

Scott Summers took one ludicrous glance at the book in his left hand then faced her with the same baffled look. "Because we're not like other schools," he reasoned.

Jean laughed and turned her back on him, leafing through random items on her desk without care. "Because we house and teach mutant teenagers?" She sat down in her leather armchair and propped up two shapely legs on the desk's surface. "Darling, our physiology may be different but our educational needs are surprisingly the same as everyone else."

Scott's eyebrows knitted in confusion above his amber-coloured glasses. "So why don't you teach it?"

Jean's eyes grew wide. "Have you seen my schedule? You have lapses in yours that would be more than enough time for you to teach them." She stood up and swayed over to Scott, lovingly throwing her arms around his neck. She cocked her head to the side and smiled warmly at him. "You'll be fine, Scott." She leaned in until her lips barely grazed his earlobes. "Besides," she smiled mischievously, "you may learn a thing or two yourself."

She had to duck to miss his half-hearted whack.

Cyclops initially had a fear of large crowds. His first childhood recital had been a traumatic affair – nervous tension that takes the form of lethal optic blasts rarely wins over a crowd. But through the help of his professor and mentor Charles Xavier, Scott had been able to squelch that memory until it was nothing more than a somewhat humourous sidenote of his life.

Today, however, was a decidedly different affair. Scott eyed his classroom, jaw rigidly set and arms crossed sternly across his chest. His students – ranging in age from 13 to 18 – stared back at him in clueless silence.

"Do you know why you're here?" He asked slowly.

The class shared quick, confused glances between themselves. Bobby Drake drew up a shaky hand. Scott pointed at him. "Isn't this Life Management Skills?" He prompted.

Scott's eyebrows raised above his coloured glasses in a moment of disbelief. He shook his head and turned away from the class. "Is that what they're calling it these days," he muttered quietly to himself. With a mixture of self-pity and resignation, Scott Summers sighed and picked up the piece of white chalk lying beside the green board. In big, bold, capital letters, Scott spelled out "SEX EDUCATION". 

There were several gasps followed by several more nervous giggles.

The second Scott turned around the noise ceased, and once more his class stared at him with wide eyes.

"It's about life choices – taking responsibility for those choices. This will give you just some idea of how difficult that responsibility can be."

He was met with an awkward silence.

"But Mr. Summers," Rogue shyly spoke. "That's an _egg_."

Scott didn't even bother glancing at the store-bought egg held upright in his right hand. "I know what it is, Rogue."

Rogue nodded quickly, red tingeing her cheeks slightly. But she looked up again. "An' how is an egg supposed to teach us about sex?"

"It's not to teach you about…" he waved his hands around in the air, "_sex_…it's to teach you about the consequences and the responsibilities that come with having…" he cringed, "_sex_."

"Oh." Rogue nodded her head slowly this time. "Now it makes sense."

The class released its anxiety with bouts of laughter. Scott held his hands up to quiet them down, but the teenagers were beyond listening at that point. Scott made a mental note to hunt both Charles and Jean down like rabid dogs and show them no mercy. "Guys," he started, but soon had to shout over their ruckus. "Guys!" Kitty glared at him. "And girls," he conceded. "This isn't a joke. This is a serious lesson about caring for something that's fragile," he stared at the egg in his hand. "Even if it does come from a…chicken."

There were some snorts of derisive laughter.

"The point is, this isn't something to be taken lightly. How you handle your egg will directly affect your mark at the end of this course. If there's the slightest bit of damage or negligence in the caring of your egg then you may find yourself repeating this course." He noted the flashes of dread flickering across their faces with satisfaction. Mission achieved. "Now get into partners."

John Allerdyce placed an arm around Bobby Drake's shoulder. "Can we be life-partners?"

The class erupted into fits of laughter again. Scott frowned at John. "Sorry John, I missed that. How long did you want to be in detention for?"

John slowly removed both his arm and his smirk. 

***

The horizon was sinking in the west; the sun seemed to expand its size to a neon orange ball and the sky surrounding it faded from blue into a vivid yellow sheen. Mountains of white clouds arose from the west, glowing eerily with the oncoming darkness and the last remnants of light.

Claresholm was a one-street town along the stretch of Alberta highway. It was filled with people just passing through and those that never left. It was a town that didn't ask many questions but saw its usual fill of them; from the absurd, "Don't y'all say it 'aboot'?" to the alarming, "Did we miss the turnoff to Moose Jaw?" All questions were met with the patient temperament typical of a slow prairie life. 

The Harley Davidson pulled into the 7-11 and sat behind a slew of RV's. The engine remained idling, and the young man stayed on the bike, staring blankly ahead of him with an elusive frown. He pulled up into the next available stall and gassed the bike up quickly. A roll of distant thunder made him look up.

"Wouldn't want to be traveling on that thing when the storm hits."

Scott Summers turned toward the man standing across from him holding a gas nozzle in his Winnebago's tank. The man smiled openly at him and Scott forced himself to return the gesture.

"I'll be fine," he remarked quietly.

But the truth was inescapable; the sky was darkening in surprisingly quick succession. The storm would not take long before it was upon them. As if to confirm the fact, the sky rumbled loudly. The man looked up.

"This highway gets pretty bad when it rains," he turned back to Scott. "You'll want to head off the road once it gets ugly."

Scott blinked a few times, his action obscured to the man by his red glasses. Finally he nodded slowly, just as the nozzle clicked. "Thanks." He replaced the nozzle and screwed the gas cap back on. "I'll be careful."

The man shrugged and continued pumping gas long after Scott had left the convenience store.

The clouds were still rising and to the west Scott could see the trailing clouds that kissed the prairie floor, signaling the onslaught of powerful rains. Scott placed his black helmet atop his head and continued north without a second thought.

***

The teenagers were their usual noisy selves as they slung off their backpacks and threw them beside their desks. Ignoring the teacher standing sternly at the front, they turned around in their seats and talked excitedly to one another.

"Ahem."

The interrupting noise went completely over their heads. Scott coughed loudly. But the class was entirely oblivious to his presence. "Excuse me," he started, then sighed as they continued their tirade of gossiping and flirting.

Scott turned and walked lazily over to the broad windows that looked out onto the school's manicured lawns. His eyebrows creased as he squinted into the distance. "God, I wish Storm would quit sunbathing in the nude." 

From behind him came the rusty creaks of desks being moved and pairs of trampling sneakers darting over to where he stood. Every teenage boy in the class was clamoring over each other to see out the windows while Scott turned back around with a smirk on his face. The remaining girls sat in their seats with arms crossed and feet tapping the floor, meeting his amused gaze with their own disgruntled stares. 

"Not funny." Jubilee remarked.

By now most of the boys had realized their teacher's cruel joke. A young teenaged boy with chin-length blonde hair still stared out the window. "Well ah don' see nothin'." Scott tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the boy's desk. Sam Guthrie sat down with a disappointed frown.

"Well, now that I have your undivided attention, it's d-day."

A look of panic flashed across several faces. No one moved.

"Your eggs? I assume you all still have your eggs in perfect condition like a careful and diligent parent would."

The looks of dread now increased. Scott sighed. "Just hand them in."

"Ah couldn't help it! He was being so annoyin' an' he wouldn't leave me alone, so ah had to!"

Scott tapped his clipboard with his pencil. "Rogue, where's your egg?"

She pointed at John Allerdyce who was standing behind her with a smirk on his face. "Ah threw it at him."

"I ducked."

Scott looked from Rogue's red face to John's grinning one. "So…where's the egg?"

"It hit me." 

Scott looked further down the line to where Bobby Drake stood with his hand in the air. "Got me in the back of the head."

There were several tentative giggles from the line. Scott exhaled loudly. "I see. John, where's yours?"

John shrugged. "I got hungry."

Jubilee popped her head in front of John's chest. "He fried it accidentally."

John pushed her head away with an irritated shove. "It was not accidental," he smiled at Scott with a twinkle in his eye. "I wanted to see if I could make it explode."

"Oh, it exploded alright," Kitty snickered.

Scott waved them away. "Bobby?"

Bobby's eyes grew wide and crimson slowly traveled up his neck to paint his cheeks and ears. "Oh, well…I kind of-" he stammered.

Rogue shrugged nonchalantly. "He froze it, dropped it, shattered it. It was kinda cool."

Scott shook his head. "Sam? Please give me some good news."

Sam looked uncharacteristically bright-faced for the particular assignment. "Ah'm with you Mr. Summers. Ah for one am appalled by the lack of parenting skills in this class." He turned to the rest of the students with a severe gaze. "Y'all should be ashamed of yourselves."

Scott cleared his throat. Sam turned back around with a wide smile and handed Scott his perfectly unmarred egg. "Ah called him Sambert Overeasy. Ah hope you will love him just as much as ah did." He pretended to wipe a tear away melodramatically.

Scott was studying the egg intently and just as Sam was about to make a clean getaway, Scott grabbed the back of his tee-shirt. "Sam?" 

Sam's face fell, noticeably to the rest of the class who stopped and stared at the teacher scrutinizing the student. "Yes Mr. Summers?"

"Did you…" Scott turned the egg over in his hand. "Did you…hardboil your egg?"

Sam widened his eyes in a dramatic play of innocence. "No Mr. Summers! That's outrageous! Why, that'd be like-"

"Like boiling your young." Scott finished for him. He released Sam and shook his head. "You guys are beyond help."

The bell sounded, signaling the release of the students who stampeded out of the classroom in a mad dash for freedom. They nearly missed sweeping up Dr. Jean Gray in their hurry; she had to side-step them and wait for an ebb in the flow of escaping students before she could enter the classroom.

Her boyfriend stood over the teacher's desk with his back turned to her, flipping through papers. "Well, that didn't go so bad, now did it?"

Scott lifted his head at the sound of her voice but didn't turn around. "They're hopeless. The day those little monsters start having children will be the apocalypse for the rest of us."

Jean sauntered up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Honey," she murmured into the back of his sweater. "You vaporized _your _egg."

Scott unwrapped her arms from his body and pivoted to face her with a forced glare. "Yeah, well, maybe if you had been a more attentive mom, then maybe little Scotty Junior would still be alive today."

Jean snorted with laughter. She looked up into his face with a devious grin. "Come on Mr. Sex Education. Why don't you give me a lesson?"

For the first time since agreeing to teach the course, Scott found himself smiling from ear to ear. "You are a naughty, naughty girl."

She threw her head back and laughed.

***

There were scores of vehicles pulled over to the side of the highway. Rain mixed with little chunks of hail splattered across the asphalt, pelting the cars and trucks mercilessly that sat patiently, waiting for the storm to abate somewhat before carrying on. 

The drivers shook their head at the defiance of the driver on the motorbike that streaked a path through the sleeting rain and onwards north. No hurry in the world was worth risking a late July storm in Alberta, the same storms that sometimes brought the horrifying tornadoes. But the driver carried on as though the storm had no factor in his mission, and indeed it could not have slowed him down, tornado or not.

Her laughter would not leave his ears.


	7. The One

****

THE ONE

Rogue fought against her fear as Vertigo pressed her forward down the corridor. She did not want to be here, going wherever Vertigo was leading her; a terrible chill had settled in the pit of her stomach when she thought of what might be awaiting her. She briefly entertained the thought of turning without warning – taking Vertigo by surprise and draining her of her powers. But then what? Where would she go? She didn't even know where she was to begin with. Her rational sense bade her to be patient - that an opportunity would present itself at the right time. 

Resolutely, she convinced her jittery nerves to calm themselves, to act like an X-Man would. She did not know much of her captors but she now willed herself to take in every inch of her surroundings. The more she would know of them, the more she could learn to fight them. 

_And perhaps live to warn the X-Men,_ she thought bitterly.

She shook her head. She would not let doubt defeat her.

Committed to her new mission, Rogue sneaked quick glances around her. The walls were the same metallic material that surrounded her cell, the midnight blue that seemed to absorb the bright lights above them, making it difficult to see any details they may have. Sometimes she caught glimpses of red lights, often followed by a slight recess in the wall. She guessed that they must be doors, that the lights were coded buttons. She suddenly recalled a James Bond film. 

The thought made her pause for a moment. She gasped in pain as Vertigo punched her lower back. Rogue whirled around with one hand rubbing her bruised spine and the other clenching itself into a fist. She stared at Vertigo with accusing and hurt eyes while Vertigo smiled cruelly back.

"Go ahead. Try it," she taunted.

Rogue inhaled sharply as she was struck with nausea. The corridor swayed slightly in front of her. Gritting back the bile that formed in the back of her throat, she turned and continued down the hall grudgingly, still rubbing her sore back. _Bitch._ She hoped that Vertigo was a telepath.

Vertigo gave no signs that she heard Rogue's comment. The nausea left Rogue, although the memory of it never strayed. It was an infuriating mutant power to try to combat. How do you fight against being dizzy? She shook her head again and exhaled loudly with frustration.

A soft swishing noise caught her attention. Something to the left of her had moved. As she walked further down the hall, she saw that one of the recesses in the corridor had opened. An eerie green light spilled forth, its brightness paramount to the whiteness of the fluorescent lights overhead. A fog seeped forth from the room, snaking around the door and drifting into the corridor. A panicked thought escaped Rogue's mind. _Poisoned gas?_

A body clothed entirely in a white, air-tight lab suit walked out of the room, holding some sort of data pad in its black, rubber-gloved hands. Its facial features could not be discerned from under the immense gas mask that gave it an insect-like appearance. It tapped furiously at the pad, striding right past them without acknowledging their presence. Rogue stared at the figure in complete bafflement as it hurried down the hall, down the way they had come from.

They had stopped walking, and while it struck Rogue as odd, she nonetheless took her chance to glance into the room. The fog drifted leisurely from the floor to the ceiling. Suddenly Rogue sucked in her breath and held it; if the person wore a gas mask, chances were the fog **_was_** some sort of poison. Rogue squinted as hard as she could.

She could make out a shape, a large tube of sorts. The light broke as it tried to pass through it – Rogue realised it was filled with some sort of thick liquid. She craned her neck to peer into the room further and her brows furrowed as she strained to see inside the tube. There was something in there…her eyes widened.

The door slammed shut.

Vertigo was staring at the closed door with an unmistakable look of disgust on her face. Rogue released the breath she had been holding as she studied the mutant. Vertigo took a moment, then composed herself again. She glared at Rogue.

"Keep walking," she said quietly. 

But her voice had lost some its edge. Why would the room affect her? Surely she had seen it before. As Rogue walked slowly down the hall, she pondered these thoughts along with the sick feeling that pounded in her chest of what she had seen in the tube: a human fetus.

***

"Hit me."

Obligingly, Wolverine flicked a card in Nightcrawler's direction. The blue mutant awkwardly slid the card off the table with his three-pronged hand and placed it into his other palm, which already held two cards. He scanned the cards and smiled, exposing his fanged canines.

"Drake?"

Bobby was staring at the tabletop blankly with his arms crossed in front of his chest. His two cards lay face down on the table. Logan was certain that even if he casually leaned across the kitchen table and sneaked a peak at Bobby's cards, the kid probably wouldn't bat an eyelash.

"Bobby?"

Startled, the teenager shook the thoughts from his head as he looked at Wolverine with a questioning glance.

Logan nodded at the deck of cards beside his hand. "You wanna card or what?"

Bobby shook his head and flipped his cards over. "I think I'm done for the night."

Wolverine grunted at the seven and the ten that Bobby had laid out before him. He looked at Kurt who was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "What?"

"Hit me."

Logan and Bobby shared dubious glances. "You sure?" Wolverine asked.

Kurt nodded vigorously. "Yes. Hit me."

Shaking his head, Logan flicked another card at him and smirked at his own three. Confidently, he laid down his combination of a jack, an eight and a two. "Read 'em and-"

"Tventy one!" Nightcrawler exclaimed as he laid down his four cards. 

The smouldering cigar nearly fell out of Wolverine's mouth. Bobby leaned forward on his elbows to gape at the cards. Kurt had given them a five, a six, a nine and an ace. Bobby and Wolverine both sunk back into their chairs, staring at Nightcrawler with an odd sense of awe. Nobody beat Wolverine at cards. Bobby's lost $25 was attributed to that.

Nightcrawler sat on his haunches in the wooden chair and scooped up the winning pot that had collected in the middle of the table. "We play again?"

Wolverine took a long drag on his cigar while Bobby rubbed his eyes and shook his head. "No thanks," he said quietly.

Nightcrawler shrugged and stuffed his pockets with the overflowing cash. "Vell, until next time, nein?"

The two remaining at the table mumbled their thanks and goodnights to Kurt, who bounded up the staircase on all fours.

Bobby resumed his distant stare. 

"You wanna talk about it?"

Bobby looked at Wolverine. The mutant was chewing on his cigar but stared at him intently. Bobby started to shake his head slowly, but stopped the movement and looked out into dead space before him. "It's like…it feels like…I mean out of everyone on this earth, we're more powerful than any of them. And you combine us all together and we can do some amazing stuff." He lowered his hand down on the table slowly as he chewed the inside of his cheek. "But we can't even find our own team-mate."

"We'll find her," Logan assured. "Believe me."

Even if he didn't believe himself.

***

It felt like Star Wars. She was Princess Leia off to meet her doom at the hands of Darth Vader. She fought against a hysterical urge to giggle as she imagined herself with cinnamon buns on the side of her head. She then wondered at her own sanity to be reflecting on 1970's pop culture when she may be making the final march of her life. 

The hall had come to an abrupt stop. The dead end curved outwards to meet Rogue, welcoming her. The same red lights she had seen before were at the right hand side of the dead end. Rogue's palms began to tingle and sweat. She did not want to see what was behind this door, and yet a curious exhilaration could not wait for it to open.

As if sensing Rogue's inner torment, Vertigo purposely delayed keying in the code to slide the door open. Vertigo's mouth curled in a malicious sneer as she watched Rogue's eyes widen with every second, the teardrops of perspiration that gathered on her dark brows, the way she chewed on the corner of her lips. It was as though she had completely forgotten about Vertigo. Vertigo reached up with her right hand to punch the keys in.

Rogue threw her right elbow viciously into Vertigo's nose, hearing the satisfying crunch and surprised cry from the mutant woman. She frowned at the form of Vertigo holding her bloody nose, tears streaming from her watering eyes. The once proud and taunting woman now sat curled against the wall, drawing her knees in to protect her body.

Rogue turned, prepared to dash down the hall when something stopped her. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, a shiver escaped and coursed through her spinal cord. Her hands shook of their own accord. She held them before her eyes, amazed to see the continuous vibrations for she did not know _what _was making her tremble so violently. There was something in that room.

Turning and yet fighting the action with every sensible notion in her body, she slowly faced the door again. Vertigo's eyes were open, furious and agony-ridden. She attempted to swear at the girl but ended up moaning as every small movement sent electrifying currents of pain throughout her sinuses. Rogue spared her only a quick, nervous glance before stepping closer to the door. Someone was laughing on the other side.

Her arm drew up in an eerie imitation of a marionette, controlled by an outside force and not of her own accord. She stared at her own alienated arm in bewilderment. The hand touched the red-blinking keypad. She blinked mutely as her fingers danced lightly across the key signs. The thought was discomforting to say the least. How did she know the code?

The door opened with a resounding swoosh that tousled the white streak in her hair dramatically. She gasped and choked down the urge to scream.

"Hello, Ms Rogue."

***

Charles Xavier was fitful in his dreams. His head tossed and turned against the pillows as he felt a staggering amount of dread chill him to the core. He pulled at the blankets until they came to rest at his chin, but he felt no warmth from them. He had an unnatural urge to flee, but his dreams told him nothing of who or what he wished to run from. He fought against the distressed need to cry, and as the emotion threatened to suck him under with his own tears, his logical side reminded him that he was dreaming – he hadn't cried since his one of his prized protégé's had left him in a mountain of water. But the need was there, and though he could not explain it, the telepath that Charles was bade him to venture further into this dreamscape. 

There was a familiar touch to it.

***

The being before her sat regally in a leather armchair with his long, black cape gathering at his feet. His gloved hands rested on the arms casually and he smiled warmly at her. But his eyes glowed with an ethereal crimson and his toothy grin was too wide to be anything but menacing. He was an enormous man, obviously well built as could be attested by the form-fitting outfit that enhanced every defined muscle. Even her friend Piotr could not match the sheer size of the creature in front of her.

"There's no need to be nervous," he quipped emphatically. "We won't harm you."

Rogue nodded uncertainly. "Ah'm sure." Her voice cracked with tension. She found she could not tear her eyes away from his intense face. 

As if realising this fact, the man cocked his head and gave the slightest laugh. He flicked his left hand, beckoning the figure that stood directly behind his chair. 

It then hit Rogue that she had overlooked this person entirely. It was a woman of striking height and possessing a build comparable to a feminine version of the man. She had a shock of dark, thick green hair and emerald eyes to match. The woman smirked at Rogue, much as Vertigo had, but this one studied Rogue as if comparing her to a cockroach. Rogue felt an instant dislike for the woman. She squirmed self-consciously under her scrutiny. 

"Polaris, if you would be so kind as to pour us a beverage," the man instructed. He had a refined way of speaking, almost eloquent in his delivery. Rogue would have likened him to her Professor Xavier if it weren't for his decidedly malevolent appearance.

The woman named Polaris had stepped over to brightly lit bar that jutted out from the wall. She flicked a switch and a small rectangular piece of the wall flipped over revealing rows of ornately carved crystal glasses. Polaris took three glasses out and poured an indistinguishable clear liquid from a metal decanter. She handed one to the man, who swirled the liquid around the glass languidly, almost as if it were a fine brandy. She extended her long arm to Rogue, who stared at the glass nervously before tentatively reaching for it.

There was a drawn moment when all three stared at each other and no one drank.

"It's not poisonous," the man remarked.

Rogue shrugged, but the slight tremble of the glass belied her nonchalant gesture. "You first."

The man smiled. Rogue wished he wouldn't; the more he grinned at her, the more unease she felt. "As you wish." He downed the liquid in one extended gulp. He exhaled loudly, evidently refreshed. "Delectable," he gasped.

Rogue glanced at Polaris. Slowly, tauntingly, Polaris placed the glass to her slightly parted lips. She let the cool liquid moisten her bottom lip and lowered the glass with a wink in Rogue's direction.

"Polaris," the man said in a reprimanding tone, "be civil."

Polaris shrugged and took a long sip of her drink. Both turned a beckoning stare to Rogue.

She sniffed suspiciously at the contents in her glass before finally taking a long gulp. The sudden taste of clean, crisp water threw her off, and the liquid trickled down her windpipe, resulting in a panicked coughing fit. Polaris and the man laughed at her. She glared at them as she wiped away some of the discarded water on her chin.

The man placed his fingers on his mouth as he calmed his laughing fit. He pushed himself out of the chair and strode towards Rogue, who shrank away from him. He positively towered over the teenager. "Now that that's out of the way, lets get down to business."

Rogue held his steady eyesight stoically, although her knees felt close to collapse. "Who are you?"

The man's dark black, almost blue eyebrows shot up. "Oh, my apologies! How rude. I am Mr. Sinister."

Rogue's jaw fell. She turned her head away. "Well, that's appropriate," she muttered.

One of Sinister's eyebrows arched. "Indeed."

Rogue faced him again, feeling an unnatural determination rise in her. "What do you want with me?"

He bent his heads toward her. "Now that's the question, isn't it?" He asked quietly. He motioned to Polaris, who came behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "But perhaps my companion here can give you a better idea. If you would be so kind, Malice?"

Rogue stepped away from the woman until her back was forced against the wall. Polaris was staring at her with an unprecedented intensity. Rogue couldn't explain the sudden and all-encompassing fear that racked her body with tremors. Something hammered at her mind, pounding against her skull as if knocking to gain entry. As her vision clouded at the edges, her wavering attention was drawn to the woman's choker. The cameo in the centre of the black ribbon was not elegant or even appealing. It was the picture of a woman with raven hair and black eyes to match, and as Rogue fought against an overwhelming sensation of being suffocated, she could have sworn that the woman in the choker was looking at her.

In a last attempt to fight against the unseen force attacking her mind, Rogue clutched her head and screamed.

***

Charles Xavier woke with a start, gasping for air and perspiration rolling down his forehead and cheeks. He could feel her; in a moment of sheer clarity he felt her mind struggling against a forceful intruder and then – nothing. She was unconscious, of that he was certain. And he was relieved as well. The pain and fear of the intrusion reverberated within Charles until he felt that he, too, could have screamed.

As he collected his senses and calmed his pounding heart, the Professor knew that he would not sleep anymore that night. His student was in pain, perhaps being tortured. But more than that, her panicked presence had lingered in him and a name spoke itself in his mind. 

Sinister.


	8. Lucid Dreams

__

Lisette – I think he's blue.

Roguechere – Kudos for catching that, but I can assure you it was purely intentional...

****

Lucid Dreams

Bobby could not sleep; he felt as though he had not slept for days. There was a terrible trepidation in his chest; he felt his heart thumping with anxiety but could not quite remember why. He tossed restlessly in his bed, throwing off his cumbersome blankets and then reaching for them again when the cool air in the room chilled his skin. He resorted to staring at the ceiling, listening to John Allerdyce's snoring. Normally the Iceman was oblivious to his roommate's noise, but tonight it irritated him to the point he was tempted to throw a textbook at his forehead. A clock ticked in the corner of the room, ticking away the seconds and minutes until he had to be awake for school.

Something struck him as odd about his current situation, but for the life of him he didn't know what. He shook the thought away.

Sighing loudly, he pushed himself out of bed and padded over to the small washroom he and John shared. He flicked on the light, squinting as his pupils contracted painfully. He turned on the water and waited until it warmed up some, then splashed the tepid water on his face. He wetted his cheeks and rubbed down his neck, pausing to study the exhausted teenager in the mirror. Dark circles encased his blue eyes, adding years to his face.

He turned off the light, prepared to sink into his bed when John's snoring reached a new volume and vigour Bobby didn't even think was humanly possible. He shook his head. _No way I'll be getting any sleep in here._

He stepped out of his room and into the grand corridor of the Xavier mansion. The hallway was dimly lit, just in case the youngest members of the school should wander at night. A grin popped on Bobby's face as he realised that he was acting just like them.

He had no real intention of going anywhere, but as he meandered mindlessly the thought struck him that his feet were leading him to a familiar room. He came to a large oak door identical to his. It wasn't locked; in fact it was slightly open. The soft light from the hallway created a sliver of light that travelled from the doorway and up onto the bed, caressing the face of his girlfriend Rogue.

He stepped into the room cautiously, pausing by Rogue's bedside to glance quickly at the other two girls Rogue shared the room with, but just like her, Jubilee and Kitty were deeply asleep.

Her cheek was warm to the touch. Bobby brushed the stray piece of stark white hair off her face, drifting his fingertips across her eyelids. Her mouth was parted slightly as she took in shallow breaths, making soft noises as she drifted further into her slumber. Bobby smiled.

He let his hand rest on the top of her head, feeling the warmth emanating from her. He combed his fingers through her straight hair, twirling the white streaks in his fingertips then letting them fall. He could not recall this amount of sureness in his life before; for so long he had dwelt in the self-conscious knowledge that he was different, a freak of nature. But with Rogue in his life he felt something knew, something protective that gave new meaning to his mutant abilities.

__

"I'll never let anything happen to you," he whispered into her ear as softly as he could. He leaned in and kissed her on the lips, holding his mouth over hers for fear that the moment would end too abruptly.

Which it inevitably did. 

His breath left him in a violent torrent, immediately kick-starting his adrenaline and panic. He felt the unnatural rush of his energies leaving his body, creating a void filled with the coldness that was his mutation. Normally it didn't bother him, but now as his veins began to bulge he felt the penetrating touch of ice until he thought his bones would shatter from it. He couldn't back away fast enough and now as he struggled to keep the air that was swiftly leaving his lungs he knew he was suffocating in the worst type of vacuum. She was literally sucking the life from him. 

Her eyes shot open. 

If Bobby could have screamed he would have. Her eyes were white, no hint of colour or life. He searched her face for any recognition of what she was doing to him, how she was hurting him. She stared blankly back at him, impervious to his weak thrashings as he tried to detach himself from her kiss. He was losing the battle; he could feel his strength waning. He was going to die, Rogue was watching him die, his girlfriend was killing him! Her mouth was locked onto his lips even now as he was sinking to the floor, weakly trying to push her away. He wanted to cry out for help, with every fibre of his being he thought as hard as he could to the Professor, but no one could hear him.

Rogue was clutching his face, digging her nails into his flesh painfully. This wasn't Rogue, it couldn't be Rogue, it was a demon or a shapeshifter of some sort. Bobby's wild eyes searched the room franticly, hoping that the two other occupants would hear his plight and pry Rogue off of him, but they slept on peacefully.

The world was turning black before him; he was dying. He couldn't die, not yet, but the truth was plainly there. He was dying, killed by his own girlfriend. With one final heroic effort, he yelled the name of the one that was leaching the life from him.

He sat up in his bed yelling her name, pulse thundering in his ears. Cold perspiration soaked his scalp and shirt, and as he moved to run a hand over his sweaty face he was amazed to see the shake in his limbs. The disorientation of returning from nightmare to reality was beginning to fade. He glanced at the empty bed across from him.

John was no longer here.

Rogue was no longer here.

"Bobby?"

The door to his room was being opened tentatively. He searched for the words to turn the person away, but found that his hoarse voice was nothing more than a gasp. 

The mocha face of Ororo Munroe peered around the door. Even in her half-awake state the African woman was as composed as ever. Seeing the pale face of a shaken Bobby drew her closer. She pushed the door open and stepped into the room, pulling the edges of her white silk robe together. She crossed her arms over her chest as she stood beside his bed. 

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Bobby stared ahead in a bewildered gaze, then found the motor skills to shake his head. 

Undeterred, Storm sat at the foot his bed, studying his obviously troubled face. "I heard you yelling for Rogue."

Bobby met her compassionate gaze with his own wide-eyes. "It was nothing," he whispered. Still trembling slightly, the teenager lowered himself down and gathered the blankets over his chest. "It was nothing."

Storm nodded slowly and stood up, still watching Bobby's face. "I understand," she said quietly. She crept out of the room, shutting the door but stopping just before it latched. She purposely left it open a crack, leaving the light of the hallway to shine in his room.

***

He dove headfirst into the water, the glacial-fed lake that froze anything it touched. Diving headfirst was better than wading in; after a few feet into the lake the cold became too much and he would always turn back. Diving off a high ledge ensured that you could not back out once you were in. His head broke the surface and he gasped for the brisk mountain air; his throat constricted with the cold until he was hyperventilating. He treaded water for a few minutes while his body acclimatised itself. His breathing slowed to rapid, shallow breaths and he clenched his jaw shut to prevent his teeth from chattering.

Scott's specialised visor made seeing underwater difficult. It was definitely not made for swimming, but even had he the normal eyesight as everyone else he would not be able to see further than his outstretched hand. The water was too deep, too dense to see anything else but a dark void. 

Despite this, he swam. Swimming blindly, feeling with his hands as his legs kicked and flailed, propelling him further into the middle of the lake. He was never sure what he it was that he thought he could find. In the end, he supposed whatever it was would find him. The clues were there, somewhere. If he just swam a little bit further...

When his legs felt exhausted and his lungs screamed for warm air, when his limbs trembled and he began to think incoherently, that was when he knew he must return. A small part of his mind, the desperate part, urged him to go just a little bit further. But the rational and hopeful side knew that this would mean suicide. Reluctantly, he always turned back. He would need to re-warm himself and rest a full day before he could try again. But he would not give up.

Something brushed by his leg. Startled, he stopped paddling and treaded water as he searched the depths of the lake for whatever had touched him. For some reason, he could not bring himself to dip his head under; the shivers at the back of his neck were now being caused by something other than cold.

Something clamped onto his ankle painfully, dragging him under without a moment's notice. Shock kick-started his adrenaline; he tried to wiggle his way free but alarmingly found himself going further down into the depths of the lake. His legs were tired, used beyond their capabilities but still he kicked as sheer terror took hold in his mind. Whatever had him was strong. He was running out of air and energy. He wondered ridiculously what would happen when he reached the bottom. Would his ears pop? He suddenly came up with the idea to send out an optic blast at the thing. He had never performed a blast underwater; he didn't even know if it could be done. 

Knowing that either way he would probably die, he lifted a hand to his forehead and began to turn the dial to send a strong blast beneath him. And then the pressure abruptly released itself from his leg. He felt himself floating up to the surface, free of his own volition. He lifted his head up to welcome the dim rays of light that shone through the murky water. When he thought his lungs would explode from the pressure and lack of oxygen, his head broke the surface and he sucked in the crisp mountain air. He gasped and struggled to maintain his previous paddle, nervously checking the water for any signs of what had tried to take him under. He was shaking uncontrollably now; he had to get to the shore.

A soft splash alerted his fuzzy senses to something behind him. He spun around and screamed.

She was dead. The woman before him was dead. Jean was dead. Her skin was bone white. She was stock-still but somehow managed to stay above the water. She was naked. But her hair was the vibrant crimson that he had adored. Her lips were full and flesh coloured. She was not a ghost, she was not decomposing, but she was not the Jean he had remembered.

Her eyes were orange. There was nothing but an orange fire where there had once been life, questions and compassion. She stared at him and he was suddenly taken by the calmness of everything around him. All life and motion stopped for this moment. He had found her.

Or had he?

He had dreamt of this moment for months. For the moment when he would wake up and realise that he had been dreaming, a long terrible nightmare. And he would swallow her in his arms and promise her over and over that this time he would not let go. But for all the months of anticipating this exact moment, he couldn't bring himself to even touch her deathly pale skin.

"Jean," he whispered. His voice sounded weak to him; it carried no weight to it, no conviction. Only fear.

"Jean," he repeated, more forcefully this time but still underlined by a nameless fear.

Her face gave no recognition. The orange eyes stared blankly at him; her mouth set in a firm line. She blinked once, but that was as much movement as she made.

Scott swallowed, glancing quickly to the shore that beckoned him. "Jean, come with me," he prompted. He tread water with one hand while his other hand reached for her. "Come with me," he said again.

Jean tilted her head slightly, as if contemplating. Suddenly, she whipped out her hand and took hold of his collar with a surprising strength. Scott's heart pounded wildly, but he could not fight her, not again. She spoke to him, in a hollow voice that he did not recognise as hers. "You...come...with...me."

And with a speed he never could have anticipated, she dragged him down. He fought, kicking and screaming into the void of water but her path was relentless. She was taking him down, all the way down.

Down to her grave.

Scott lurched sideways in his sleeping bag, opening his eyes with a tortured cry. It was the same dream, over and over. The closer he came, the more vivid they became. Day after day he camped beside Alkali Lake, feeling haunted and restless. Everyday he walked the water's edge, retracing steps taken too long ago. The cold that came at night no longer bothered him, or maybe he was beyond feeling it now. 

He searched his dreams for her essence. Could it be her that was sending him these horrifying images? Or perhaps it was his own conscience, revelling in his guilt for a past he could not change. 

He lay inside his sleeping bag, knowing that he was beyond sleep but not willing to leave the comfort of the down-filled bag either. He huddled inside the bag until he was nothing more than a human ball, holding his head with both hands as though he could squeeze the dream from his mind. 

How long would he remain here? How long before remorse led to madness? Would he wait until winter hit the Rocky Mountains, would he willingly let himself freeze to death to appease his own aching?

He shook his head. He would not let himself die. Jeanwas not dead. She was _not_ dead. He had not failed her. Not yet. He would find her. He would not lose hope. He _would_ find her. 

He repeated it over and over like a mantra until his wearied brain drifted off into a blissful slumber, devoid of any dreams.

***

The sun had been blazing on a cloudless day, driving the temperatures up until the black pavement in the front of Rogue's house smelled of melting asphalt. The sidewalk scorched her barefeet as she ran over it and a small yelp could be heard whenever she rested on one foot too long. She jumped onto the wilting grass and ran across her front lawn, taking the white veranda steps two-by-two. She hopped over the threshold holding her sandals in her left hand, pushing her sweat-laden hair off her face with her right. She peered into the house, foolishly expecting some sort of oasis from the heat outside. Not surprisingly, the house lacked air conditioning and the result was an effective oven of trapped heat. Her yellow sundress was sticking to her skin; the tendrils of brown hair that drifted from her ponytail stuck to the back of her neck and itched her terribly. She sighed as she leaned against the doorway. She longed for a sprinkler or even a kiddie pool, but neither item was a particularly desperate want of her parents.

_But in the back of her mind, Rogue knew that her parents did own a sprinkler._

The oak tree in her backyard called to her. There, sitting north of the tree was its immense shadow, a tantalising sight. Counting her good fortunes and eyeing the living room suspiciously to make sure her parents were still dozing by the electric fans, she stepped lightly through the house and snuck around to the kitchen. She stopped to pour herself a glass of iced tea, sipping it as she crept through the squeaky screen door and onto the back porch. 

It was her favourite climbing tree when she was a child, and consequently many of her bumps, bruises and broken bones were suffered at its base where she fell from its high limbs. Her tire tube swung lifelessly from a strong bough; for sentimentality's sake she never had the heart to take it down. She plopped down in the shade, leaning her back against the strong base of the tree.

_Rogue couldn't recall a tree in her backyard, just the one in the front._

For a long time she sat with her eyes closed, listening and reflecting on the world around her. The heat was still noticeable, but now it became bearable. She felt a light breeze tousle the loose bits of hair around her face and she smiled as they tickled her eyelids. The breeze kissed her neck with a wash of cool air, and for the first time that day Rogue felt a relief from the heat. 

It wasn't until she felt a draft where she shouldn't have that she opened her eyes. Confusion immediately took her as she found herself staring at a limb full of leaves. The leaves parted, brushing against her cheeks as she passed by them. Why would she be passing them?

She gasped as she turned her head to the side; she was floating above the tree. She struggled for some control but it felt like her body was suspended on a string, drawing her further and further upwards. Finally she managed to flip her body over so she was now staring back at the earth, still slowly going up. She saw the top of her roof, where the shingles were beginning to warp and leaves had gathered in the eavestrough and the perimeter of her backyard with its overgrown grass and rickety garden shed parked by the back fence.

_She didn't have a garden shed._

Fear gripped her, what if she floated too high up? Would she die when the altitude afforded her no oxygen? What if she floated into outer space? The fear was very real so she howled for help. But she was too far away now; no one could hear her cries.

Without any thought, she stopped floating upward and changed direction. To her vast relief she began to gracefully fall. The tips of her toes grazed the blades of grass and it was as though something released her; all her weight settled on her feet and she stood wavering for a moment as she readjusted herself to gravity. She looked up, fully expecting to see her mysterious string magically appear, but of course nothing of the sort happened. Now thoroughly baffled, she pinched the skin on the back of her wrist to wake herself up. Nope, still awake.

Then a strange thought came to her, an idea that perhaps it wasn't a dream or hallucination. Maybe, if she thought hard enough, she could do it again. Feeling slightly ridiculous standing in her backyard trying to wish herself wings like a child, she nevertheless squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated every ounce of her being on thinking happy thoughts. After a few minutes of reliving Christmas morning when she was five, she opened one eye and was thoroughly disappointed to find herself firmly planted on the ground. 

A new tactic came to her – she envisioned herself being weightless. Weighing nothing more than a feather and free to float against the wind. The thought seemed to relax her; she felt all tension leave her body, replaced with a wonderfully dazed feeling. Slowly, she opened her eyes and once again found herself brushing by the tips of the boughs. 

This time she laughed, stretching out her arms to feel the leaves brush against her fingertips as she floated by them. She willed herself to stop just above the tree and then wondered if she could control her direction too. Startling, she found she could do just that. The euphoria was overwhelming. Now she felt a freedom that she had longed for in all her thirteen years. 

__

She was eighteen, wasn't she?

Where would she go? With a small mental push, Rogue started off in the direction of her neighbour's house. 

_Carol._

No, she didn't think that was her neighbour's name. Rogue mentally shrugged, perhaps she was confused by the elevation. Her neighbour was that brown-haired little girl -

_Blonde._

Now she was quite sure that her neighbour had brown hair and not blonde. Or maybe it was blonde. Whatever the case, she thought she would pop over and say hello to her neighbour What's-her-name and maybe show off her new talent for airborne loop-de-loos. 

She slowed down as she reached the cedar fence of her neighbour. Wouldn't it be fun to sneak up on her? Rogue giggled with the thought of how scared she would be to see a flying girl soar over her fence. So Rogue floated back down until she was a foot off the ground and peaking over the high fence of her neighbour. Stifling her giggles until just her shoulders were shaking, Rogue popped her head above the fence to spy on...that blonde girl.

Rogue gave a start. So she was blonde. She could've sworn her neighbour had brown hair. The little blonde girl – Carol? – sat on the cement porch in the backyard, with her back facing Rogue. Rogue smiled. She was about to make her thunderous appearance when she heard a sob come from the little girl. 

The little girl's hair was a mess of blonde tangles; her pink dress with embroidered flowers had dirty streaks on it. She lifted a small arm and rubbed her face with the back of her hand. Her back quivered with sobs.

Rogue was struck with compassion for the little girl. She had the sudden urge to hug her, to wipe away her tears and comfort the distressed child. "Hey," she said quietly.

Carol jumped and turned around with dried tears streaking down her cheeks. Her lips were swollen and pink, turned up in a miserable frown. Her wide blue eyes stared at Rogue.

"Hey," Rogue said again, this time motioning with her hand for the little girl to come closer. "What's wrong?"

Carol glanced nervously at her house then stood on shaky legs and slowly came over to the fence where Rogue was peering over. She muffled her cries with a grubby arm as she crept over, watching Rogue suspiciously with tear-laden eyes that threatened to spill at any moment.

"Why are you so upset?" Rogue asked as gently as she could.

The tears spilled loose, but the little girl held a hand over her mouth to silence her cries. Rogue waited patiently, aching at the sight of a heart-broken child. 

"I...I lost...it." The words hiccuped their way out of Carol, and more tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Lost what?"

Carol's shoulders trembled as she fought to answer. "Stolen...it got...stolen."

"What got stolen?" Rogue grasped the top of the fence so she could lean in further to her. "Who stole it?"

Carol's head snapped up and she shot an accusatory glare in Rogue's direction. "You stole it!" She screamed, pointing at Rogue. "You stole it!"

A deep warning wormed its way in the pit of Rogue's stomach. She lowered herself from the fence and to the ground, feeling the anxiety rise into her chest. The little girl was still wailing, and now Rogue could hear the parents come running from the house. Rogue began to run too, into the comfort of her own house. She had an unnatural urge to run to her mother, to bury her head in her mother's shoulder as she did when she was a child. Her parents met her in the kitchen.

"Mama!" Cried Rogue, opening her arms to her mother.

But the woman looked at Rogue with horror on her face. "Who are you?" She asked.

"It's me, it's..."

Rogue couldn't remember her own name. 

"Gary, call the police," the woman instructed to the balding man next to her.

"No," Rogue said, shaking her head. Warm tears began to form, stinging her eyes. "No, it's me...it's your daughter."

"Get out of my house," the woman warned.

The little girl was still screaming in the background and now she could hear the man talking with a deep voice to someone on the phone, giving them their address. Rogue felt the weight of helplessness settle in her heart. "Why don't you recognise me?" She asked softly.

Her mother stared at her, and all the colour drained from her face. "Who are you?" She asked in a trembling voice.

Rogue looked at her but could barely see through the haze of tears. "It's me. It's me, your-"

She broke off abruptly as she noticed a picture stuck to the fridge by a magnet. The girl in it was slightly older than she was, with a bright smile and blonde hair and blue eyes -

_Carol_.

Rogue's eyes widened. She was not the girl in the picture. She was-

"ROGUE!"

The male voice did not come from the house. The woman did not seem to notice. Rogue shook her head, feeling a pounding in the base of her skull that nearly blinded her. She clutched her head with both hands, moaning loudly as the pain increased.

"ROGUE, STOP!"

Rogue began to scream, in a voice that shattered the vision in front of her like it was made of nothing more than glass. She felt herself falling, her legs giving way beneath her.

She hit the hard metal floor and lay in a crumple heap, trembling uncontrollably.

"Did it work?" She heard a male voice say.

"Rogue!" It was the same voice that shouted to her in the dream. She heard someone tell him to shut his mouth, followed by a volley of shouts and swears between the two. For the life of her, she could not open her eyes.

"Did it work?" The previous voice asked again, this time with more insistence.

"I...don't know." It was a female voice, familiar to Rogue.

From somewhere distant in the room she heard a deep sigh. "We'll have to try again tomorrow."

She knew that voice; that voice scared her. It made her retreat further into her ball, clutching her arms for warmth and protection.

"Put her back in her cell. We'll try again tomorrow."

Gloved hands picked her up, and dumped her unceremoniously into a dark and cold room. They walked away and she heard a loud humming in front of her. For some reason, the humming that she associated with pain now became a barrier of safety. Between her and whatever was out there.

Powerful footsteps came to rest in front of her cell. For the first time, she opened her eyes and her vision travelled slowly up into the face of Sinister.He smiled menacingly at her.

"Pleasant dreams."


	9. Epiphany

__

Rouge151 – Yep, it was Remy's voice. About the Carol / neighbour thingee…we're getting very close to figuring it out.

****

Epiphany

Xavier had not expected his team to be so wide-awake at his early morning meeting, but as usual they defied his previous notions. Wolverine stood with a simmering frown, Storm studied Charles with her utmost concentration, Nightcrawler was perched on a countertop with a cocked head and Iceman stood cross-armed with dark circles rimming his eyes. Xavier frowned at him; the young man was not sleeping well. Although he knew it was because of his concern for Rogue, he hesitated sending out an X-Men who was not at peak performance, particularly on a mission that baffled even Charles Xavier.

They all stared expectantly at him so he quietly began their meeting. "I know where Rogue is."

They gave a jump and one by one began to step in closer to him. Wolverine gripped the table's edge, his eyebrows creasing with anxiety. "Where?"

Charles shook his head. "It's not as simple as where, we're not dealing with-"

Wolverine cut him off abruptly. "Just tell me where," he demanded loudly.

Charles' stare bore through the feral mutant. "Ohio."

Bobby stood up straighter with his mouth set in a grim frown. "Ohio?" He repeated.

Xavier nodded. 

"Do we know why?" Storm asked.

Xavier shook his head. "I do not know the exact motives, but I believe I know by whom." He paused, not for dramatic tension but in order to collect his thoughts. "There is a mutant that I have only heard rumours of. He comes and goes as he pleases but on very rare occasions he makes his presence known. This is one of them. His name is Sinister."

"Sinister," Bobby whispered. His face paled with fear; Rogue was being held by a mutant who willingly called himself Sinister. 

"The mutant in the background," Wolverine added, remembering his and Charles session with Cerebro.

Xavier nodded. "He is the supposed leader of the group of mutants who call themselves 'The Marauders'. You've already had a run-in with them once."

"That was him," Bobby said quietly. The X-Men stared at him. He went on, oblivious to all those around him. "I saw him…when he took Rogue."

No one spoke as they removed their gazes from the young man, all except for Charles. He watched Bobby serenely and waited until the Iceman raised his head to lock eyes with the Professor.

"We never spoke about it Bobby. What happened that night?"

Bobby dropped his gaze and shrugged. Now Wolverine was staring at him intently along with Xavier.

"What did Sinister do to you?" Charles asked forcefully.

Bobby looked up quickly, panic dilating his pupils. His palms began to sweat and a slight tremble shook his limbs. "I don't know," he whispered. "He just…I don't know," he repeated.

"I saw you kid. You were covered in ice. I never seen you do that before." Logan stated firmly.

Bobby glanced quickly from Wolverine to the other occupants in the room. Nightcrawler was nodding seriously, Storm was studying him with interest, while the Professor kept his coaxing gaze fixed on his aversive subject. "I...he...I felt like I was going to...explode," he stammered out.

The Professor's eyes narrowed. "Explode?"

Bobby nodded. "I've never felt like that before. I mean, I've always thought that I could, I just never thought..." he trailed off.

Wolverine was shaking his head. "Yer making it sound like you wanted to be an icicle. He was killing you."

Bobby shook his head. "No. I could breath. I wasn't dying."

"I don't understand," said Storm.

Bobby frowned and shrugged his shoulders, frustrated. "I don't either."

"I think I do," Charles stated. All eyes turned back to him and waited for him to shine the light of understanding on them. "The mutant that affected you was not Sinister, it was Scrambler."

"Skinny kid," Wolverine pointed out.

Xavier cocked his head. "Yes, I suppose so. Scrambler's mutant abilities centre on manipulating other mutant's powers. In your case, I think he exposed something we had previously overlooked."

Bobby snorted. "What? Turning myself into a snowcone?"

"Yes." Charles answered simply. "Most mutants will never experience the full potential of their abilities. I think, Bobby, that Scrambler's affect on you may have triggered a new wave for you. I think you're advancing now."

Wolverine threw his hands into the air. "What's this got to do with Sinister and Rogue?"

A perplexed frown settled on Charles' face. "Because I don't think that we've seen the extent of Rogue's powers either."

"What do you mean, Professor Xavier?" Storm asked solemnly. "Why would Sinister wish to see the extent of Rogue's powers?"

"To exploit them, naturally."

Wolverine pushed the air down with his hands. "Hang on a minute. If Rogue used her powers to the fullest extent, wouldn't that just kill someone?"

The silence was palpable and seemed to answer Wolverine's own question. He shook his head and pivoted, breathing furiously through his nostrils. 

"The question is," Charles began. "Who?"

Bobby sank into a chair beside the table and rested his chin on his knuckles. After thinking deeply for a minute, he raised his eyes and stared seriously into the Professor's face. "So when do we leave?"

***

Rogue would have continued to sleep had the voices been talking at normal volume. Had they been speaking with no regard for her peaceful slumber she probably would have done no more than open one bleary eye, glare at them for a moment and then grudgingly fall back asleep despite their rudeness. But it was because they were whispering that she awoke and could not fall back asleep. Her natural curiosity overcame the best of her; she strained to hear what they were discussing, and more specifically to hear if they were discussing her. She hated it when people spoke about her as though she wasn't even in the same room. 

Her hearing focused on the hushed voices, straining to pick out familiar words and names. She found it exceedingly difficult. Perhaps if she caught them in her eyesight, if she could see their mouths moving, then she could eavesdrop. Her vision was uncooperative; she squinted and blinked several times before her lonely cell came slowly into focus. As hazy as her eyesight was, she immediately recognised that there was nobody else inside her cell besides her. 

_"Shhh. She's awake."_

Now thoroughly annoyed, she pushed herself up and slumped against the wall. Still the whispering continued, only now at an even lower decibel. She shook her head and grumbled. She stood up and gasped at the coldness of the metal floor on her barefeet. She quickly padded over to the invisible energy field, being careful not to get too close. She glanced left and right, but suddenly noticed that the whispering had stopped.

"Well, y'all could at least turn up the heat!" She yelled.

"Rogue?"

"It's alright Gambit. They're just bein' rude bastards as usual."

There was a drawn silence. "Why do you say dat?"

Rogue snorted. "Well, they wake me up an' then leave me freezin' to death."

There was another long silence. "Who woke you up?"

"Them." 

"Who?"

Rogue threw her hands into the air even though Gambit could not see the gesture. "Them! Whoever was whisperin'."

"But dere was no one whispering."

It was Rogue's turn to be silent. "Yes there was." She said quietly. "I heard 'em."

Gambit did not answer, and a part of Rogue was eternally thankful to him for that. She suddenly felt like a little girl. The coldness had crept along her body until it took shape as a constant shivering in her limbs. She sank onto her bed and curled into a fetal position, clutching the blanket as close to her trembling body as possible.

_"Is she still awake?"_

"Shhh!"

"Leave me alone," Rogue whimpered. "Jus' leave me alone."

***

Remy LeBeau shivered in spite of himself. Somehow being in Sinister's presence was enough to physically drop his body's core temperature. Sinister did not hesitate to notice and grinned widely in the young man's direction.

"Cold, are we? Shall I have Scalphunter kick up the heat a few notches?"

Remy shook his head resolutely.

Sinister grunted. "Good. We couldn't turn up the heat even if we wanted to." He took a sip of tea from a delicate teacup that looked severely out of place in his large blue hands. He replaced the teacup on a silver tray beside him and sank deeper into his leather armchair. "So. Tell me about your new friend."

"Leave her alone, Sinister."

Sinister's eyebrow arched dramatically. "Now, now. Let's remember who runs this show. I can leave whoever I want alone, but I choose not to in Rogue's case."

Remy's voice gained in volume. "What she ever done to you, Sinister? She's jus' a kid; she's innocent. Leave her alone."

Sinister cocked his head. "How touching," he said dryly. "You care for the young imp, don't you?" He smiled as Remy dropped his gaze to the ground. "Of course you do." He rose from his chair and towered over the young mutant with impressive height. "For you are both victims of circumstance. Unwilling participants in a horrible twist of fate. Ah, my naive little thief," he clasped his shoulder with so much strength that Remy winced. "I could take all your pain away. I could make you whole."

Remy's red eyes blared with hate up at Sinister. "I don' want whatever you sellin'. Jus' let us go."

"Fine." Sinister removed his hand and turned his back on Remy. LeBeau rubbed his bruised shoulder. "But tell me, Mr. LeBeau. Where is it you intend to go?"

Remy looked up with wide eyes. He had no answer.

Sinister glanced at him over his shoulder. "Home?" He laughed. "We both know there's no such thing for you now. You may as well accept your fate."

Remy dropped his gaze again and frowned. "What's dat?"

Sinister faced him, looking like a military commander with his shoulder blades squared and hands clasped behind him, his long black cape swirling at his feet. "My protege." 

Remy shuddered, shaking his head back and forth but he could not find the words to counter Sinister's remark.

"Oh yes. Not now, of course. We'll have to reinitiate your training to suit my needs. Until then, get used to your cell and use this time to reflect. It will help in the long run." He gave Remy a mock sympathetic smile and waved him off.

Remy set his jaw rigidly and turned to follow Scalphunter out of the room, but not before Sinister took a final jab.

"Oh, and LeBeau," 

Remy stopped and gathered his will to face Sinister again. "What?"

Sinister stared at the floor solemnly. "Do try to help Rogue through her trials. I fear she's having a rather difficult time adjusting." 

Remy roared and lunged for Sinister with outstretched glowing hands, but before he could leap he dropped to the ground in an unconscious heap. Scalphunter had fashioned a wicked looking club in the seconds it took for Remy to turn. He towered over the mutant's prone form, slapping the club in one hand and wishing that Gambit would rise so he could use it again.

"Good work Scalphunter." Sinister congratulated. He stepped in closer and studied his victim. "Perhaps your young friend will be of use to us yet. Take him away."

***

She was dreaming again. Lucid dreaming? Wasn't that what Ororo Munroe had called it, when you dreamt but at the same time recognised consciously that you were dreaming? Her conscious self nodded. Her dream self shrugged and continued down the sloping hallway. The door seemed to take forever to reach; no matter how close she came to it, it just kept getting further away. That was until she realised that it wasn't getting further, it was just a tiny door that no human could feasibly fit through. The door was eye level, and no bigger than the size of her thumb. She tried to turn the doorknob, but her big clumsy fingers couldn't grasp the tiny piece of hardware. Grunting with frustration, she flicked at it.

The door swung open and enveloped her in a sea of light. She shielded her eyes with her forearm and took a step forward. To her surprise, the minuscule door disappeared. She was standing in a large room, exceedingly large. Once her eyes became accustomed, she discovered the room was actually an aeroplane hanger. It looked deserted. In front of her was an impressive jet; large and lethal looking. It somewhat reminded her of the X-Men's own Blackbird. She was puzzled; what was she supposed to do again?

"She's in there."

Rogue spun around at the voice and frowned when she saw Mr. Sinister standing a few feet behind her. "What the hell are you doin' here? Ah don't recall wantin' you in ma dream."

But Mr. Sinister didn't even bother looking at her. "Rogue," he said softly. "Your fear has never been of me. I am not the fear you need to conquer."

Rogue looked doubtfully from Mr. Sinister to the spacey-looking jet and back to Mr. Sinister. "Yeah well, it ain't of jets either."

Mr. Sinister shook his head and sighed impatiently. "Not the jet, stupid. It's what's inside the jet."

Rogue turned back to the jet. "An' what's inside of it?"

Behind her, Mr. Sinister laughed. "That's not for me to divulge. I can only bring you so far, young Rogue. It's up to you to do the rest." There was a brief acrid smell of sulphur, and then like a bad cliché, Mr. Sinister disappeared in a puff of grey smoke.

"Yeah, 'cause you've been such a help so far," Rogue muttered under her breath. Collecting herself, she strode towards the plane, surprised that her soft-soled sneakers were making so much clunky noises across the pavement. She wondered ridiculously if someone was doing sound effects to match her dream. If that were the case, she would appreciate some background music, something dramatic to face her "fear". None came. 

Stepping inside the jet was like stepping inside of a vacuum. The world became muffled, sterile. The jet looked like a luxury line for rich businessmen. It had several rows of seats, all two by two and clothed with a neutral navy blue. In fact, everything in the jet was a shade of blue. She continued up the aisle until she came to the cockpit, where the door was closed. She briefly considered knocking but shrugged off the idea and opened it cautiously instead. She knew right away that there was someone in the captain's chair.

True to Mr. Sinister's word, she was afraid, but she did not know why. She didn't want to know who was in the chair, but she was too scared to turn and run. She was an X-Man. She would face it; she had to. Her teammates' lives depended on it.

She stopped her train of thought abruptly. Why would the X-Men's lives depend on whoever was sitting in that seat? Had she missed something important along the way?

As if in answer, the X-Men were standing in front of the jet, all in uniform and staring blankly in her direction. Her conscious mind was now thoroughly confused. 

"Hello?" She asked softly. No one stirred. "Please, ah have to save ma friends. Please talk to me." She pleaded gently.

The chair swivelled around. A young, attractive blonde woman faced her. She looked vaguely familiar...

"You can't save your friends, Rogue." 

The voice that came from the woman didn't sound like Rogue expected it to. It sounded different, sort of displaced. "Yes ah can. Ah have to."

The woman smirked. "You can't save them Rogue. You aren't strong enough. They'll die."

Rogue was shaking her head vigorously. "No. Ah can save them."

The woman stood up. Rogue glanced at the white uniform she had on. Sort of skimpy for an airline pilot. "Really? You and your fantastic powers can save all of them? Even if I kill them right here and now?"

The words hit Rogue like a physical slap. She recoiled and stared at the woman in horror. "Why would you do that?"

The woman rolled her eyes. Rogue was sure she knew her from somewhere. "Who cares about my motivations, Rogue. The real question is, what are you going to do about it?"

Rogue glanced fearfully from the woman to her oblivious teammates, still staring blankly at the front of the jet. "What are you gonna do to them?"

The woman shrugged. "I could just push this little button." She lightly draped her finger on a big red button that red "MISSILE". 

Rogue gasped. "Don't."

The woman cocked her head. "Or what?"

Rogue took half a step back. "Ah said don't."

The woman took a menacing step towards her. "I ask again, or what?"

Rogue stared at the X-Men, her friends, her family. They were all she had in the world anymore, if she lost them...She threw her hands over her ears to block out the sound of her own thoughts. 

The woman turned back to the button. "See? You're too weak to even save your team." She began to press the button.

Rogue screamed and lunged for the woman. Surprised, she spun and tried to block Rogue, but she didn't have time to counteract as Rogue lay her bare hands on the woman's cheeks. The woman's eyes widened in terror, her mouth gasped feebly like a fish gasping for oxygen. She began to sag against the console, then she sank to her knees, then finally she was lying on her back and Rogue was still holding on. This woman was a threat, she would kill Rogue's friends, she couldn't be allowed to go through with her evil plan, she would-

"ROGUE, NO!"

Rogue ignored the distant voice and kept pressing. She would save the X-Men, thanks to her they would live, they would never be in danger again, she would-

"ROGUE STOP! YOU'RE KILLING HER!"

Killing? Killing was such a subjective word, particularly when you were dealing with a threat as insidious as this Carol woman. Who did she think she was? 'Was', how interesting that Rogue was already thinking about the woman in the past tense. And besides, wasn't the best way to maintaining one's own safety through prevention? In that respect, she was acting more like Smokey the Bear than she was some morally exceptional-

"ROGUE!"

"Marie."

Rogue stopped. The voice came from the woman. From the pale, pale woman beneath her. She lifted her hands from the woman's face and found herself shaking uncontrollably. 

"Marie," the voice gasped. This time, it sounded like it actually came from the woman. It was soft...fragile...dying.

Tears began to fall from Rogue's rapidly blurring eyes. "Ah'm so sorry. Ah'm so sorry," she whispered. She looked around her. Where was the cockpit? "Help," she whispered. "Please help me,"

"LEAVE HER ALONE!"

She turned back to the woman. She was lying on a steel table with a starched white blanket covering her naked body. The woman didn't look so evil now. Now she just looked like...

"Carol?" Rogue asked. She bent down until she was inches from her face. "Carol, wake up. It was all a dream. We're alright now." She touched Carol's shoulder but pulled her hand away violently. She forgot; she wasn't wearing any gloves. A sinking feeling began in the pit of Rogue's stomach. Nothing happened when she touched Carol. She touched her again. This time she pulled her hand away quickly, not because she thought she hurt the woman, but because the woman was chilled to the bone.

The cold reality froze Rogue to the spot. The laboratory, her cell, Gambit, Mr. Sinister, Polaris standing behind her...dead Carol. 

"Oh God."

Then she feinted.


End file.
